Flashes of Gold
by Kayo-Chann
Summary: Wren Fey.  District 7.  The girl with nothing to loose, a sinister attitude, and a twisted twin just waiting for her to mess up.  Oh, and there's also a boy who she happens to be infatuated with...  OC/OC.  Has nothing to do with Katniss/Original plot
1. Playing with Satan, erm, Calan

**Flashes of Gold**

**Introduction: **Wren Fey was practically born in the forest surrounding her home. Her twin sister loathes her, her mother ignores them, and her father is missing. There is only one person who she truly feels safe around, and that is Evon, the only one who took the time to gain her trust, and now she doesn't have him anymore, either.

When she is called to be a tribute for this years Hunger Games, she doesn't know what to feel. She knows only one thing: winning is a must. If she wins, she can see if her is still alive father. She can show to everyone in District 7 that she's someone to be reckoned with. She can get Evon back from her evil sister, Calan. But first things first. If she ever wants to see Evon again - and he's the only one she cares enough about in District 7 - then she must come out Victorious in the Hunger Games. Now, if only her mentor wasn't such a bitch...

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p>My name is Wren Fey, District Seven, and there is only one thing I hate: my twin.<p>

It started not so long ago. The battle for our mother's affections had begun after father left. We grew up surrounded by our distrust for each other, allowed it to fester with every moment of our mother's ignorance. She could never have known about our battles – never did know, even when our glares morphed into physical combat, and more. She had dimmed from this world, and noticed us only when she needed to.

Calan was always the innocent one. Her long blonde hair seemed to give her an angelic halo. I loathed her for being so naturally beautiful. Standing beside her, with my coarse black hair and skinny body, I felt silly, childish. Like I had when we were small and vying for our mother's attention. She had always gained it.

I know it's because I look liked father. We share the same hair and have the same shaded golden eyes. We had the same personality, too – fierce and protective. After he left, mother couldn't take looking at me. She intrinsically noticed Calan, because it didn't bring her pain to look at her. Not with her matching golden hair and pretty blue eyes. She didn't look like the man who betrayed her.

It didn't happen to just mother. Of course, I can't entirely blame the rest of them. When boys coddled up to Calan, it was because of both her beauty and her personality. Her voice was attractively high, and had an alluring pitch to it that left my own voice sounding dirty and scratchy. The way she batted her eyelashes and walked with the swing of her hips; how she laughed her tinkling laugh and joked and caressed...it propelled her into a social life that did nothing for me.

But even though I didn't care to be her – didn't want to have boys falling over my every word and a wide circle of friends – I still wondered. I wondered what it would be like, to have a personality that didn't drive people away. I wondered what I felt like to be so popular. I wondered why Calan always seemed to get everything I wanted.

Over the years, I learned to detest her for it. My hatred wasn't like the squabbling arguments we had as children, but were rather built from those. Like a fire, they scorched through every conversation I had with her, intensified with every look we exchanged. I know she felt it too, because it was during the summer of our seventeenth year that she did the one thing unforgivable. She stole the boy who was my only friend, who could have been a lover. The one boy who meant more to me than anything else imaginable. Evon Miller.

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><p><strong>Chapter One | <em>Playing with Satan...erm, Calan<em>**

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><p>Alright, so I lied. There are two things I hate: my twin, and dressing up in these frilly, ridiculous dresses. Never mind that it happens to be Reaping Day.<p>

I don't know where Calan is, but I don't need to know. The small knot of boys up ahead gives away her location. I have to admit, with much jealousy and spite, that she looks lovely. Her blue dress highlights the delicate curve of her cheekbones, and make her eyes seem to be aflame. Mother had helped do her hair in a sweet half-up hairstyle, and it showcased the long angle of her neck.

I didn't bother looking down at my own outfit. My green dress was far from ugly, but didn't flatter me the way Calan's did. The fabric gave me a rustic presence. The color seemed to dull the gold of my eyes. My figure, which was far from the full one of my sister, was shown in the worst of ways, giving my waist a cinched sort of look that made me appear far too skinny. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. The black strands weren't pulled back in a fanciful manner, but rather tied messily at the nape of my neck, carelessly thrown over my shoulder.

I kept my eyes firmly ahead as I passed over her group, but my blatant lack of interest was probably what made my sister call out to me. At the sound of my name, I stopped, jerked my head toward her, and tried not to look at who she was currently clutching at.

It didn't matter, though, because she made me look at him. She enjoyed rubbing it in my face. Ever since the moment I found out about her relationship with Evon, she kept trying to see my shock and frustration over and over. Luckily, I kept most of my emotions locked away these days...except, perhaps, my anger, which I was beginning to become a bit famous for.

"What?" I spat, eyes narrowing dangerously and only drawing more attention to myself. I hated everyone in this district, and the boy who was fooled by Calan – the one my heart is aching over – is not exempt from it.

But Calan only smiles innocently. Her blue eyes are a myriad of secrets – most of which aren't a secret to _me. _But she fools everyone into believing that she's always harassed by me, always the damsel in distress because of my biting words. I guess it isn't all that difficult to convince.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck," she murmurs, flashing her eyes into mine. Though her words convey a pretty message, the edge of her voice disgusts me. Am I the only one that can hear it? Her eyes give me another message from the one she speaks. It is a deadly sort of wish. She hopes I get Reaped, because she hates me. The dislike is mutual.

My lips curl upward into a sick smile that puts hers to shame. People already think I'm pure evil anyway. The way I act doesn't allow for much sympathy. So I take my time as I gaze at her.

He's staring at me when I respond. I only glance at him as I shift my eyes to my twin, but it is enough. It's enough to see the high arch of his cheekbones as they descend toward his full mouth; enough to notice how his dark hair glimmers a strange reddish color in the sunlight; enough to detect the look in his eyes – one I have seen many times before, when he tries to figure out what I'm thinking. I try to ignore his brooding gaze, nerves distraught as I keep myself together.

My words send flashes of fury through Calan – I can tell because I know her better than anyone – but I'm not afraid of her and she knows it, and remains powerless against me. Well...nearly powerless.

She runs a hand up his arm, drawing him closer as though trying to glean comfort from him. But I know what she's really doing, and it's a sick trick. My eyes dart into his, cutting through him with a look that I didn't mean to express. Betrayal and hurt, but for what, he doesn't know. He's dense when it comes to our friendship. He doesn't see the way I love him...but Calan does, and she's not above using it to her advantage.

I break away quickly, trying not to imagine the grin that I know Calan is now wearing. The rest of the walk to the town center is just as fast. I just want this day to be over, because I want to get out of this dress and go back into the woods. I want to get away from my mother and Calan and Evon and loose myself in the safe, easy stroke of the axes.

But I never achieve that, because after all the glamor of the Reaping is underwent, and the Anthem is sung and the names are drawn, the woods are far from my mind. When my name is drawn, I can see myself immediately on the screen.

I'm happy that my emotions are still in check. It's strange, actually. I don't feel much of anything. My heart gives a few hard pounds as the anticipating settles into acceptance, and my legs force the rest of me forward. I take the steps at an oddly lazy pace. It's as if I don't care about my life at all. Sickly, I wonder if, somewhere in the back of my mind, I ever really did.

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><p><strong>AN: Kayo here! I just wanted to introduce my newest story. It's my first time writing a Hunger Games fanfic, and I noticed how different it is from everyone else's, which is sorta the reason I posted it. This isn't a contest-story, like so many other HG fics. I wanted to give the HG my own spin, with my own character and plot. Like the original story, this is going to be fast-paced and hopefully just as adventurous. :3 Hope you enjoy!**


	2. The Fattening

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two | The Fattening<strong>

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><p>The male tribute is scrawny looking. I find it relieving, actually, because he's so obviously weak and probably can't lift an axe. I most likely won't have to kill him. The Careers have a habit of weeding out anyone who doesn't make it through the bloodbath, and the weak are always the first to go.<p>

I guess the majority of the days before the Games are spent gorging, because that's what everyone's doing. The Chariot Rides are tomorrow, and the day was mainly spent with my prep team. It was annoying, watching them fight over who gets to do my hair and makeup – probably a more rewarding job than waxing my legs. The woman who ended up with the triumph wasn't gentle, either. She pulled at my long black strands and coaxed them into doing things I didn't think possible. It was like an evaluation – they were deciding what to do for the Rides so that, when the time came, they can be quick about it. Hopefully a lot quicker than they were for the Chariot Rides.

Unfortunately, I didn't get a glimpse of my costume, but I'm shifting between happiness and discomfort on the matter. Last year, the tributes were stuffed into plastic tree trunks and given branches to hold and swing around. It was a ghastly ordeal, but the whole 'tree trunk get-up' seems to be a bit popular for District Seven. After all, what else could you do for the lumber district?

Now, as I sit at the table watching everyone eat, I can't help but feel a little angry at those stupid artists. My legs were still searing with pain, and my scalp itched with a residue that was probably still attached to my hair. I glared down at my food, suddenly not feeling as hungry as I was five minutes before.

"You'd better eat, idiot. You'll need more than your energy in the days to come."

I sent my glare up across the table, to where my mentor sat. Unfortunately, we had a lot in common, because her narrowed eyes seemed even fiercer than mine. Johanna Mason participated in the Games only a few years back, but her vast knowledge of techniques was the reason she was back here at the Capitol. Just because she shared my stubbornness, however, didn't mean I had to like her.

I don't respond, because I know that if I do, my cutting words will probably earn a slap. I learned that after the first time. I also learned that she can hit like no one I'd ever known. I won't admit that the sentiment makes me slightly proud, because I'm supposed to hate her.

Because I can still feel her glare on my face, I force a thick chunk of potato into my mouth. If eating makes her happy, then I'll eat. But as I continue to chew, I feel like nothing more than a pig being fattened for slaughter. The thought sickens me so much that my stomach churns restlessly and I have to stop again.

"Alrighty!" comes the cheery voice of the woman who the names. Her name is Hayley, and she refuses to be called by her last name. All in all, that's a good thing, because I can't really remember what it was anyway. "Tomorrow is the Chariot Rides. Are you both very excited?"

By the blank look she receives from all of us, Johanna included, she frowns. Apparently she's the only one whose the least bit excited. It probably has something to do with the fact that her life isn't going to be risked, or, more than likely, ended entirely.

"Well, you should at least try to be happy. Your entire District will be watching, after all. Being honored with the chance to prove yourself should be fun!" I bit the inside of my mouth to stop from saying something nasty – a habit I've lately been trying to reign in. Something about not getting Sponsors if I keep acting like a bitch or whatever.

"Anyway, I'm sure you'll both look absolutely _lovely _in your costumes – " she glances at me, but stops when she sees the way my eyes are shimmering with rage. Quickly, she turns to address the boy, – Matt something-or-other – who doesn't look nearly as lethal. "Last year, the tree costumes were especially nice." And the year before that, and the year before that. But I kept my mouth shut because Johanna is shooting me that shut-up-or-you'll-regret-it look.

Dinner doesn't end fast enough. I sit there and endure half an hour more of Hayley's incessant jabbering before we're finally dismissed. Later that night, when I finally fall into bed, I'm so exhausted with emotions and locked in worry that I fall asleep in record time.

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><p>Upon waking up to Hayley's annoying, pitchy voice and then remembering what awaits me today, I find myself wishing I could sleep longer. But snuggling into my pillows is useless, because I know I have a schedule to adhere to, and if I'm late for my costume fitting, there'll be hell to pay. So I force myself to get out of bed and stumble into the shower, which I still don't really understand how to use.<p>

Somehow, I get it to shoot out hot water, and scrub myself clean. My hair feels silky beneath my fingertips, but I know it won't for long. No doubt the Prep team will pile that sticky stuff onto it again. My scalp will probably hurt by the time I get back to my room later tonight.

As I make my way down to the Prep room, my mind is abuzz with frightful images of the costume I'll be forced into. I can picture Calan's face now, sneering and laughing her giddy, melodious laugh at the sight of me stuffed into a tree trunk. My face seems to be set in an irreplaceable grimace by the time I reach the room, but surprisingly, what awaits me is not what I had been imagining.

It's much worse. I find that I'd _rather _be stuffed into a tree, because after donning the outfit, it's so sheer that you can practically see through it. It's made of interwoven leaves, which might have been pretty had there not been so many spaces between them. It's very scandalous – more risqué than I'd ever worn.

My grimace intensifies as my fingers fly over the silken leaves, trying to draw them tighter against my skin. I wish they'd let me wear something underneath it, because I'm going to be cold and ridiculous. Unfortunately, my Prep team can only smile at the sight of me. They find nothing wrong with the dress. They think it's stunning on me. They don't seem to care that my District will probably be wide-eyed and shocked at the sight of their grumpy, biting tribute wearing nothing but leaves.

I wished they at least gave me some of those damned tree branches from the year before, so that I could at least try to shield myself a bit. It's not like the dress actually showed anything, but it was the least I'd ever worn without being utterly bare, and the fact that I was going on live television before all of Panem didn't help much.

But Johanna, when she saw me, only smirked. "Put some make-up on her before she blushes it off," she told the Prep team loudly, and I swiftly curse at her as they pull me back to do just that. By the time they're finished with me, my face is fixed with shimmery foundation that's as sheer as the dress itself.

I have to admit that the make-up isn't all that bad. It could have been much worse. The skin shimmers a greenish color that runs over every revealed inch of skin, from my face to my arms to my legs, but it isn't a sickly sort of green. I look rather otherworldly, as though I'm a sprite or fairy in one of the trees back home. I'm just glad I don't have to wear wings.

Matt Devons, District 7's male tribute, looks similar to me when we meet each other again. His outfits tailored to his male body, however, and leaves most of his chest bare. His facial make-up is minimal, but his Prep team obviously did something similar to mine when they highlighted his features. Together, we look like a team. I try not to grimace at the thought as we step onto our Chariot.

Hayley tatters away as we grasp onto the railings. The first of the Chariots has already pulled into the crowd, and it's almost District 7's turn. I try not to think about how my family is watching right now, or what Evon might think when he sees me. But it's hard to keep my thoughts from anything else, and I feel miserable the entire time we wait.

Luckily, once we roll into the crowd's sight, my thoughts turn to more pressing matters, like the fact that everyone's quietly marveling at our shimmering costumes. I try not to look like I'm the unhappiest person alive, but I don't think I convince anyone. Matt, on the other hand, smiles and waves like it doesn't bother him at all. Following him is a good idea, so I try to lift up my mouth a bit. I suppose I couldn't hurt. After all, I'll need Sponsors once I'm in the Arena, and getting on the Capitol's good side is a smart step. Haughtily, my lips curve into a deadly smirk.

I don't care if I've won anyone over, though. I try to, but the only thing I feel toward these Capitol people is hatred. By the time our Chariot rolls out of sight, I've already convinced myself that I don't even need a Sponsor. I can't take whatever they throw at me. I've always strong. A bad sentiment, but I guess I've been feeling rather empty from the moment Evon and Calan – no, I tell myself. I don't want to think about them right now. I don't want to imagine them huddled up together, watching me with the rest of the District.

The only thing I see as I stalk back to the elevator after being dismissed is Johanna's smirking face as she watches me leave. I'm struck with a realization then, that maybe she and I are more alike than I think.

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><p>My Interview gown is more substantial than the Chariot one. It's not puffy, but rather slim and hugged my curves. It didn't take long for my Prep team to realize what my attitude was like. The dress, certainly, matched it well.<p>

It is risky in it's own way – different from the leaf dress but still scandalous in the way it dipped over my hips and plunged into my cleavage. It hardly has any back to it at all, and the entire fabric, which is colored a deep green, is silky and satiny.

It seemed that they tried to match my outfit with Matt's once again, but I don't think they did a good job. Matt's overall personality is lighter than mine. There was no way they could stifle his carefree nature. He looked out of place in his green dress shirt, as though stuffed into a new attitude that was completely different. And it was, of course.

I can't keep the scowl from my face as I wait for my turn. District 4's girl is really peppy and annoying, but I feel like I can see right through her. She's obviously putting on a farce in order to gain Sponsors. I'd be willing to bet that inside, she'd not nearly as happy.

Johanna had coached Matt and I in our Interviews separately, and she mentioned that I might try a similar tactic. I assume it was a joke, though, because she choked on her laughter right after she'd suggested it. We pretended to go fabricate a plan, but we both know I'm not going to follow it once I get out there. I could never get a handle on my sarcastic nature, and I don't intend to try now, when my death is imminent.

Girls go before boys, so when it's District 7's time, I take my stand and walk onto the stage. The shoes my Prep team stuffed me into are really uncomfortable, so I'm honestly surprised that I haven't fallen yet. Huh. Maybe if I do, people will find me humorous and decide to be Sponsors that way. The thought is laughable to my nervous state.

"And here's District Seven's first tribute, Wren Fey!" The broadcaster reached out to shake my hand, and I kept a silent expression as I smoothed it into his grasp. After the clapping had diminished, we took our seats and my three minutes started.

"Wren, you come all the way from District 7 – the lumber district. How are you liking your stay at the Capitol so far?" his eyes twinkled at me, and I felt as though he were mocking me, but I tell myself that he's just being a good Capitol host.

I'm hating my stay, I thought. I almost want to just kill myself and get it over with. But I don't say any of that aloud. Instead, I open my mouth to respond, "Oh, it's lovely. Nothing like District Seven. I'm sure I won't be able to get accustomed with life back home ever again." Ha. As if going home is even an option.

I grit my teeth and force myself to look out at the audience, who are smiling amongst themselves at the compliment I've seemingly given them. But this isn't me. I don't want to just play nice like the girl from District 4. In response to my thoughts, I smirk, and listen to my interviewer as he asks another question. "Oh, that's sweet, really. You must be excited to be a part of the games. District 7 is always a fairly popular district. Are you feeling like a winner?"

My smirk tilts into an emotion that even I can't understand. Bitterness creeps into my eyes. With a steely edge to my voice, I tell him, "Oh yes. I feel very much the winner." My smirk becomes a sneer, "In fact, I'm so pleased I could keel over and die."

Alright, so I don't know where that came from, but I probably wasn't the best thing to do. The interviewer's eyes flash with anxiety, as though he were really afraid of me. But what can I do? I'm just a fattened pig, waiting to be slaughtered, stuffed into a silky dress that compliments only my brusque personality. He chuckles, sounding just a little nervous, and the crowd remains silent. Sponsors? Why would I care about getting Sponsors?

"Well, I, erm, and very pleased to hear that." He doesn't sound pleased at all, but I don't call his bluff. My eyes suddenly loose their edge and I smirk again like before, without the hard emotion or stiff, prejudiced nature.

The clock is almost up, but in the last twenty seconds, he asks one last question, and it's a question I don't want to answer. "And are there any family or friends watching you from home?"

I open my mouth and then pause, not really knowing what to say. Surely, there was my mother, who didn't want me to leave but couldn't go against the Capitol. There was Calan, who I didn't think of as a twin, but more as an evil step-sister. There was Evon, but he never cared about me any more than at a friendship level. When he betrayed me for Calan, I – stop, I tell myself. Not right now.

I'm aware of how long it's taking me to answer. The audience is on the edge of their seats, waiting with baited breath, wondering why I haven't said anything yet. They hope I say something they can gossip about, I think. They want to hear that I don't have a family or friends, because that will make me impressionable. That will get me Sponsors. Which I need, right? Oh, damn it all to hell.

When I respond, I look straight into the cameras with a dead sort of look to my eyes. "I don't have any worthwhile family, and I certainly don't have any worthwhile friends." And that was that.

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><p><strong>That's chapter 2 :] I'm writing up a storm, so for now I'll be able to post a chapter a day. Feel free to drop a review on the way out~! Maybe then I'll have something to talk about xD <strong>


	3. Sleeping In Pine

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three | Sleeping in Pine<strong>

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><p>The day of the Games is coming right up. We have only three days to practice before the battle between life and death. Three measly days. Silently, I'm thankful that I can wield a pretty damn good axe.<p>

In fact, I'm almost positive that I have a one up on most everyone, except maybe the Careers. My fencing is superb – taught by my father as soon as I could lift a blade. But I've never told anyone, not even mother, about my skill with a sword. Because I know she would be angry at the reminder of the man who betrayed her. Only Evon knew, actually, and he wouldn't tell a soul. Not that it mattered now.

I had to admit, when we entered the training room on the first day, it was hard not to go directly to the sword stand. But I knew that sword practice was the least of things I needed. What I really had to learn was how to find food. I went right over to the edible plants stand, where another girl was already being taught.

It was the girl from District 4, acting all giddy again. It made me want to take one of the poisonous ferns and shove it down her throat just to stop her from talking. I refrained from saying anything at all, though, and just listened. The next three days, it was imperative that I learned something.

And I did. After spending an hour at the edible plants stand, I knew a wide variety of plants that were safe to eat, and also kept a repertoire of ones that weren't. Who knew? Perhaps I'd find need of those poisonous ferns before this was all over. Maybe I'd really get a chance to shut up that District 4 brat permanently. I laughed humorlessly at the thought.

I spent the rest of the time trying to wield a bow. It definitely wasn't my strong point. The grasp didn't feel right to me, and I yearned to change weapons to something more familiar. But something told me that it would come in handy, and so I struggled for hours trying to properly aim. By the end of practice, I got two arrows in the target, but they were nowhere near the center. Ah well. At least it wasn't a completely fruitless effort.

The next day, I spent some time with the bow again, but soon tired of it and moved on to something new. I was pretty good with knots, but I managed to learn a few new ones before going on to the camouflage stand. Hell, by now I didn't care what I was doing. I was eager to learn a little bit of everything, and determined to stay away from the sword stand. Johanna warned me against showing my skills during practice. Somehow, I always ended up back at the bows, drawing the slender string back and trying to get accustomed to the snap of every arrow the I released.

The last day, we have to perform before the judges. I've no idea what I'm going to do. My strategy thus far has been cold and unyielding, but once I get into the Arena, will that change? It certainly might, and I don't want to draw unwanted attention to me during the Bloodbath. So by the time it's my turn with the judges, I show them what I've learned with the bow, and end up walking out feeling their unimpressed glowers on my back. If I get a lower number, the rest of the tributes won't think I'm a threat and will hopefully leave me alone. Of course, there's really only one person who would know that this number really doesn't suit me, but Evon isn't here right now. I turn my mind to other things and walk into the dining room, where Johanna, Matt, and my Prep team are waiting.

I'm thinking I probably got a four or five, but beside my picture, there's a six. I guess I didn't fail as much as I thought. Still, I kept my face void of emotion. Matt, who was graced with a nine, maybe needs to be paid a bit more attention to.

I can feel Johanna's eyes on me, but when I look up at her, she isn't glaring like she usually is. Instead, she seems to be thinking. Probably considering my score and the reason I didn't go for a higher one. I'm sure she's caught onto my plan, because it's fairly similar to the one she used when she was competing. Have myself underestimated so that people will target the more threatening tributes, and then I'll show them who they should have been worrying about.

The next morning is the start of the Games, and I'm nothing but a bundle of nerves. I wish I could say that the thought of dying doesn't bother me, but I can't, especially when my entire District is watching. Evon, Calan, mother, the little girls who'd run about the marketplace, the old man who'd taught me everything I knew about lumber... What were they thinking now? What went through their heads when they saw my 6? Were they worried about me, or didn't they care? Did Evon care? Or Calan? Surely, she must have a heart somewhere in her cold chest. She must not want her own twin sister to die.

But as I drifted off into a restless sleep, all I could see was her sneer, goading me on as she sat on the couch of our home...body pressed to Evon's, face buried in his shoulder, positioned in a way used to be mine. Stolen, stolen, stolen. And I don't get much sleep tonight, because it turns out that I'm not much worried about my life after all, but rather the life of someone who isn't even in danger.

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><p>My outfit for the Games is simple and comfortable. The Prep team puts me into a pair of versatile pants and a long sleeve shirt, colored green. Next, they give me a thick vest lined with fur, which feels too warm in the already heated room. Still, I don't complain. I know I must look exhausted from the night before, but it's not just sleep I crave. I want to get out of here, because my instincts are telling me that my death is coming up. Who knows, I might not even get past the Bloodbath. How embarrassing would that be, dying before I could even try to live...<p>

The boots they give me are also lined with fur, but they aren't as thick as the vest. When I walk around the room to the make-up station, I find that it's fairly easy to do so. There's good traction on the boots, which are brown in color, and they're definitely of good workmanship.

The Prep team does a quick job of my make-up. They hid the bruises beneath my eyes and try to give my face a light sort of glow. They do nothing else, except to put my hair in an elastic. The low ponytail is reminiscent of my days back home, and the thought makes my throat constrict with emotion. My Prep team doesn't seem to notice, however, and they make me get up so that they can do little adjustments. When I finally get to look at myself in the mirror, I don't like what I see. It's not the outfit that aggravates me, but rather the sudden realization of what's to come when my eyes shift over the furs.

I don't know how I didn't realize it before, but as I'm ushered from the room to take my place in the cylinder, I feel myself swallow thickly in concern. The terrain will be cold. Perhaps even snowy, barren, and dead. So much for the edible plants stand.

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><p>Wren Fey, the girl with nothing. Perhaps I'll get Sponsors because of that. Perhaps people will decide to leave me alone in the Arena because of my 6. Somehow, I doubt it. Even a flawed 6 can't cover up my personality, which is bold and deadly and far too threatening. Maybe I should have tried to get a higher number, if only to scare people away. But it's too late now, because the cylinder is rising, and the ground is coming into view.<p>

At first, all I see is white. It's everywhere, over everything, and I'm reminded of a cloud. Then, the coldness hits me, and I'm not on a cloud anymore, but rather staring at a landscape of snow, as far as the eye could see. In the distance loomed a great mountain, so huge that the very highest peaks were shrouded with gray and white and the blue of the sky. The Cornucopia is in the center of a large clearing that must be at least a mile wide. There are a few pine trees scattered around the vast space, but they offer little protection. I know then what I have to do, and where I'll be running to.

I shift my eyes to the weapons that lay within the gaping mouth of the golden Cornucopia. I see a bow resting on the hilt of a sword, and my mouth waters. I wonder if there's an axe mingled somewhere beneath all those weapons, but I know I've no time to think about that.

My main concern is getting out of the clearing alive. The area is so big that it'll be impossible to go anywhere without someone seeing your direction. My eyes scan the edge of the pine forest. It's so far away...

Should I take part in the Bloodbath? Or should I try to make a run for it, weaponless and vulnerable but, perhaps, still alive...? Since those are pine trees, I'd feel comfortable there. I practically grew up in the forest. I might be able to survive a week on my own, using the snow for water and the pine needles for food. Not a nice way to go, but in a battle of life and death, one can't be picky.

The seconds are diminishing. I turn my attention to the other tributes, seeing similar outfits on them. The Careers are eyeing the weapons. In typical fashion, they'll be going after those first, and will kill anyone who tries to goes too close. I notice how the District 4 girl is shaking. Her legs are moving on the plate, though I can't be sure if she's excited or nervous. Somehow, I think it might be the former.

Ten seconds. I still don't have a plan. Surely I need a weapon! Even if I can only secure a dagger, it'd be better than nothing. Good for hunting, or stripping bark off a tree, or ultimately protecting myself should anyone come along. And they will, I think, narrowing my eyes on the bright, shining gold. They will.

Five seconds. Christ, this is annoying. Are the cameras out yet? They must be. They're probably documenting the expressions of the tributes...introducing the audience to the terrain, the mountain, the forests...the wide, open space... There's no way I'll make it without being seen, I think to myself. But then, what does it really matter? The snow will show my footprints anyway, but once I get to the forest, I can climb a tree and my feet won't have to touch the ground. Three seconds. What should I do? Two seconds. Johanna, what did _you _do? One second. Is Evon watching me now? Silently giving me directions? Telling me to run for it?

It's time. People rush forward, intent on reaching the Cornucopia. My legs shift, unsure, and then dart forward too. I need a weapon. A dagger. A sword.

I get ten feet and then catch sight of a bag. My fingers reach out to grab it and I scuttle forward two more feet. I don't dare go farther. The Careers have already reached the Cornucopia and are battling over weapons. My sword is buried beneath the rest, with no way of attaining it. I'll have to make due and hope for the best. At the very least, there'll be food in the bag and I won't have absolutely nothing.

Back on the platform, I had at least figured out part of a plan. The direction I would be running to, that is. I push my legs forward, away from the Bloodbath that is just beginning, face grave as I begin to run. The snow is giving me a bit of trouble, but at least it isn't too heavy. I have to lift my feet up higher than normal, but I adjust quickly, gripping onto the bag as though it were my only chance of success.

If someone follows me, I don't see them. The farther away I get, the better I feel. I can distantly hear the sounds of steel on steel, and the screams of death, but I ignore the shivers it gives me and force ahead.

I've gone half a mile, perhaps, when I pause at a bunch of trees to look behind me. One look is all I need. People are still fighting. I grit my teeth and begin to run again, eyes locked to the mountain ahead. As soon as I reach the edge of the forest, the better.

I do, about three minutes later. I don't stop to look back this time, but only continue forward twenty more feet before I heave myself up into a pine tree and climb about halfway up. I rest for a short minute, trying to peer through the branches at the fight, but even as I do, seven canons go off. Seven dead. The Bloodbath is over, which means that the Careers will now be weeding everyone else out. It's time to go.

The snow, I realize, will be both a blessing and a curse. It'll be a blessing, because I don't intend on walking anyway, and without my footprints, the other tributes won't know I'm even there. It's a curse for obvious reasons. Jumping from tree to tree won't be fun, especially when they're pine trees. But I've done it before, plenty of times, with Evon when we were children and running from our parents, with Calan even, before we started to hate each other. My father taught me how to climb trees. We used to bring lunch up with us during his lunch break, and we'd find a sturdy branch as high as we could, and camp out there for hours.

I was wasting time, thinking about all that. Slipping the bag across my chest, I rubbed my hands together, balancing on the very edge of a tall branch. And then, I jumped.

The first few times, it was rough. My hands caught on the bark, which scraped harshly over my skin. I hadn't done this in so long that it took a while to grow accustomed to it. The eleventh tree in, I paused to scowl at the skin of my hands, which felt raw. This isn't good. I needed a good pair of gloves. The thought gave me a start. Jolting my bag into my lap, I open it shakily and peered inside.

I bet the Gamemakers were laughing now. It was as though they were mocking me the entire time. The bag contains a tiny ration of food: a cup of berries, a small jug of water, and a chunk of cheese. Beneath the food, I find two strips of leather, a spool of thick thread with a needle, and a pair of scissors. The only other useful objects are two rolls of bandages, but they are so small that I doubt I'll be able to reuse them. Cursing swiftly, I grabbed a roll and began to wrap my hands. At least it'll be some form of protection from the roughness of the bark.

I continue on, feeling angry at myself for not going farther to the Cornucopia. I wish more than anything that I had weapon.

By the time an hour goes by, my hands are coarse and burning, even with the bandages wrapped around them. My arms are sore, too, but it's definitely my fingers that I'm worried about. I needed gloves, extremely badly.

Then I think about the leather in my bag, and the needle and thread. I can't sew to save my life, though, so how will I possibly manage to make myself gloves? My mother or Calan could have done it, I think dryly. Maybe I would too, if I have stayed inside with them rather than spend all that time with father...

The sun is quickly sinking, and I know I don't have a lot of time left before it's dark. The Gamemakers are true to the terrain, at least. The days are short, even in this fabricated wintery land.

I consider jumping down and collecting some snow, but what would I do with it anyway? I have a bit of water and I don't want to leave marks in the creamy canvas below, just in case the Careers happen to enjoy hunting at night. Instead, I go a few more trees in before stopping and settling down for the night.

The temperature has already dropped significantly since the afternoon, and it would only drop more as the night came. That's why I'm intent on reaching the mountain. Hopefully, I might find a cave to escape the chillness. It's really my only option. With only this sleeveless vest, I won't make it through the week.

I don't want to waste my precious rations yet, so I only take a few gulps of water before putting it away. I strip a branch of pine needles and nibble on them a bit. District Seven, lumber. Surrounded by pine trees every single day, every day of the week. I know how to find my way around a pine forest, at least for a few days. I don't know how long I can last, munching on these coarse needles though. My throat's not made of steel.

Regardless, I force myself to swallow a few times. When I can't take it anymore, I shove the rest of the needles in my pack and begin getting ready for the night ahead.

There isn't a whole lot to do, really. After a few minutes of finding a solid branch and situating my bag, I feel lost. My hands twist in my lap, the only sign of my discomfort. My expression remains as stoic as ever as I watch the sun disappear. As a sharp breeze rushes past me, I shiver.

This won't do at all. I fumble with the fastenings of my vest and then shrug my arms into it. It's dangerous, falling asleep like this, because if something happens during the night my arms won't be free to react. But I can't bear to spend the night freezing said arms off, so I tell myself it's the right decision.

I drift off to sleep wondering if Evon, who seems to be entering my thoughts more than I'd like, is softly wishing goodnight. I want to open my mouth and whisper it back, but I know it's only a dream. He isn't here with me. He's probably wrapped up in Calan's arms...

I frown and my dreams turn into nightmares.

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><p><strong>There's chapter 3 ^_^ Gah I'm having so much fun writing this. Thanks for the review! And of course, don't hesitate to review moar xD <strong>

**So I know this is a fast going story, and there's a lot of things I purposefully left out, but they'll all be addressed later on in the chapters. If you think I'm going too fast, let me know~**


	4. Poisonous Ferns

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four | Poisonous Ferns<strong>

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><p><em>It's windy. A rough breeze throws my hair back as I stand at the edge of the forest. I'm staring deeply into the thick green, face arranged in what has to be the most pitiful expression ever. My hand rests upon a branch that juts out into the path that the lumber workers take each day.<em>

_My dad is one of them. Erm...well, he was anyway. He's gone now, left early this morning. There was no note. Only a cold fireplace and his empty drawers. His hatchet, which usually stands by the door, has left as well. A symbol of safety, gone._

_Tears are welling up in my eyes, but I can't close them and I can't look away. I'm waiting. I've been waiting since the morning, listening for the sound of his boots coming up the trail. He usually whistles and carries his axe over his shoulder. But there is no whistling, or any noise at all. Nothing, except the rushing sound of wind through the barren trees._

_Calan snidely told me that she knew he'd do it all along. He'd been distant with the family lately. He came home later now, left earlier, and sometimes missed dinner. But every day I still brought his lunch during his lunch break, and every day we'd still climb up into the trees to eat it. And every day, he was still a father to me._

_I stand there for hours, because every time I try to turn away, I think I hear the muffled sound of footsteps along the pine covered road. It's like nature is mocking me. _

_I swing the lunch bag around, wondering what to do with it. It's rations for two, and I could never eat as much as my father. Still, I can't bear to leave, so I guile myself into thinking that maybe he's waiting for me above in our special branch. When I climb up, though, he's not. No...but the branch isn't completely empty, either._

"_What are you doing up here?" I rudely ask. I'm horrified that this special meeting place has been tempered with. This boy is certainly not my father, and he has no right to sit in my father's place...which he is, almost exactly where my father usually sits._

_But he only gazes at me, brown eyes showing nothing, save for the slightest hint of aggravation at the tone of my voice. "I don't think I need a reason to be up here," he bite back, eyebrows furrowing. "It's not like you own the tree."_

_I do, I want to tell him. I own it because no one else ever comes up here. It's mine. But I only glower at him and sit down, not liking the thought of leaving. _

"_Is that food?" he wonders, eyeing the knotted clothe in my hands. I pull it into my lap and shoot him a glare. This is my father's meal, I want to say. But my words are stuck in my throat and I can't possibly say the word 'father' aloud. Not now, anyway._

_He leans forward, but there's nothing dishonest about the way he looks at me. It's as if he wants to know why I haven't yet opened the lunch. Simple, unprovocative, but somehow it unnerves me. _

_He's silent for a whole minute. His brooding expression pulls me into a trance that I can't seem to get out of. I look around, trying to look as though I'm not paying him any attention. But my mind is only thinking about him, and wondering why he's got such a strange, intense look in his eyes. _

_Finally, he speaks. "I heard about your father." Oh. That's possibly why he's up here, but that doesn't really make sense. I've seen him around before, but I've never spoken to him. Perhaps he just comes up here later, after my father and I leave, and I just haven't noticed him before._

_I'm thankful that he doesn't offer an apology about my father. He merely continues to look at me in that deep, powerful way. This time, I can't seem to look away._

_Finally, I give up. A sigh escapes me and I toss the parcel of food at him, assuming it's what he wants. But he only raises a brow at me upon catching it. Regardless, he opens it slowly, as though the bundle was something special. It sort of was, at least to me._

_But he doesn't eat like I thought he would. Instead, his eyes dart back up to mine and he sends me a soft, gentle sort of smile. "I'm Evon, by the way." _

_I can't help but smile the tiniest bit. "Wren Fey." And I catch the apple he tosses at me. As we begin to eat together, he begins to talk, and I begin to forget that he was sitting in my father's place, eating my father's food, and making me smile like only my father could._

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><p>I wake up feeling unsatisfied. Thoughts of Evon swirl around in my head. I sit, pressed against the tree trunk, 30 feet in the air, and can't even move. I suck in a deep breath, slowly open my eyes, and stare emptily at the sky through the little windows that the branches make.<p>

I'm not sure how long it is until I finally start to move. All I know is that my body is sore and stiff from sleeping upright. I wheedle my arms out of my vest and fasten it tightly again. After making sure my bag is secured across my chest, I begin to stretch, loosening my muscles for the long journey that will be made.

The trees are huddled closer together the deeper I go into the forest, so it's easier to jump from branch to branch. My balance is impeccable – formed from learning to fence – so I drift along quickly, intent on reaching the mountain by nightfall.

Unfortunately, I have to stop several times during the afternoon. My stomach is raging, so I'm forced to take out the pine needles again. It's not enough, though, so I take a few small nibbles of cheese and pop a few berries into my mouth. I'm loathe to eat any more of my precious food, and I soon put it back so as to not be tempted to do so.

The second time I stop, it's because my gut is telling me that something is off. I do feel strange, actually. I pause to peer around me, wondering if I'm being followed. Crouching against the tree trunk, I catch my breath and think.

I haven't seen anyone since the Bloodbath, yesterday afternoon. Surely that means that the Careers have already formed their pack and are coming after the remaining tributes. But then...I look at the mountain, a brooding look in my eyes. The other tributes didn't have burly clothes on. Like me, most have either vests or jackets – not enough to keep warm during the night. So that means that, if the other tributes are smart, they'd be making their way to the mountain just like me, searching for some form of shelter. Caves.

Hmm. So that probably means that the Careers are chasing them – us – forward, and plan on weeding us out at the mountain.

My gut is telling me that this is true. That, even though I'm not leaving any footprints behind, the Careers are probably going this way anyway. And it's hard, hiding in pine trees. Because these ones don't grow much taller than 30 feet, and they don't give much of a hiding place.

It's blatantly obvious how vulnerable I am. I have no way of protecting myself. If I run into any other tribute, even non-Careers, there's a good chance that I could die. The gravity of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks, and only intensifies when I hear my labored breathing. Labored, as though I'm heavily injured – and then I see her. That's not my breathing at all. It's the girl from district 4, leaning against a tree and clutching onto her stomach, which is bleeding profusely.

She panting heavily at the strain of walking. When I glance behind her, I see the trail she's left. It's a mess. The snow has been kicked up and branches have been snapped. It's so obvious that she came here.

She hasn't seen me yet, so I go over a quick plan of action. I have no medicine the could heal her, and even if I did, I wouldn't waste it on her. She looks about ready to pass out.

I wonder if I'm ready to kill her. Because that's what I must do, I tell myself. I can see the dagger she's got on her belt. It has my name written all over it.

I watch her for a while, waiting for her to close her eyes. It's takes time – time that I'm afraid I don't have – but finally, she settles down at the base of a nearby tree and leans her head against it, seemingly dead to the world.

Not dead enough, though. When I finally reveal myself and climb down from the tree, I find that she isn't all that dead after all. Her eyes snap open and her fingers grip the dagger, holding it over her as she scrambles onto her knees. I can see the effort it takes for her to move, and I hold my hands up to show I'm not armed.

"Relax," I say, trying to sound calm. "I'm not gonna kill you. I don't even have a weapon." _Yet_, I think.

She visibly relaxes, because we both know that even though I'm weaponless, it would be easy to strike her down. With that wound, it's surprising she can move at all.

I push the snow away with my feet and sit down on the frozen ground. We stare at each other for a while, as though testing the waters of our trust. There really isn't any, but I pretend as though that isn't true. Leaning forward, I pull my bag into my lap and open it.

She tenses, but I merely pull out my water bottle. I pack snow into it and the remaining water melts it down. I offer it to her, but she shakes her head. I put it back into my pack and gesture to her wound, "Careers got to you?"

She shakes her head. When she speaks, she sounds breathless, "Mutts. Big snowy bears. I managed to escape into a tree, but..." But she got mauled before she could, I think. I didn't even consider the possibility of mutts, but of course it makes sense. The Gamemakers always have something up their sleeve.

I vaguely wonder if the camera is on us right now. The audience is wondering if I'll kill this girl. I will, but in my own way. Tilting my head, I wonder, "Are you hungry?"

I haven't gained her trust yet, and she gives me a sharp look. But her hunger seems to be more important than trust, because she nods her head. I stand up, nodding, and take my pack with me, "I'll go see if I can find some food." By food, I mean plants. I walk a little ways away, feeling good to be using my legs and not hopping around above. It's about time I do so, too, because I need to find food for myself as well. I'm not able to get much, but I load up on what I can, stuffing my bag with edible plants. When I find some of that poisonous fern, I grab that, too, eyeing it with a smirk. District 4. Fishing. She won't know what hit her.

When I get back, she's attempting to build a fire. But she's using all the wrong wood. Dark smoke will come out of that, which will give away our location in a heartbeat. I stop her, sounding a little panicked, and build a fire using wood from a nearby tree, which will smoke very little.

I show her what I could get and can't help but notice her aggravation at the slim pickings. Raising my eyebrows at her, I think how silly she's acting. Here she is, about to die, and she's complaining about the food.

I say nothing, though, and instead strip some pine needles off a branch and soak them in snow, which I put in a tin can that she supplies and put it over the fire. I pull at the fern, pretending that it's as edible as the rest, and soak that, too. Then, I hand her some of the other plants, watching as she eats in dainty bites.

Even though it's rather nice, sitting before a fire like this, I feel vulnerable out in the open. The faster this girl dies, the better. I'm intent on reaching the mountain, because even though the Careers are heading that way too, I know it's the only way I can survive.

When the snow had melted and is hot, I pull the can out and quickly put it in the snow, allowing it to cool. I weed out the pine needles and the fern, throw them away, and say, "It's tea. Feel free to have it."

She's been studying me for a while now, in a rather unnerving manner, but I don't care. If she doesn't want the tea, I'll find a different way to kill her. A bash over the head, or maybe I'll wait till she's asleep, and then take her dagger and plunge it into her chest. My thoughts disgust me, though, so I try to turn them to other things.

A minute goes by and still she hasn't touched the tea. Finally, it seems that she doesn't care anymore. She reaches out for it, tentatively makes sure she won't burn her fingers on the tin, and brings it to her lips.

I try not to stare as she drinks it, because I don't want to give it away. If she finds out I poisoned it, it might not work. So instead, I focus on coaxing the fire hotter, warming my hands above it. It works. She isn't suspicious at all, and downs the entire tea as though she was dying of thirst.

I know it'll take a while before the poison kicks in, so I keep playing with the fire, glancing up at her every now and then. She keeps staring at me, distrust blatant in her gaze. I don't understand why she still distrusts me after eating and drinking what I gave her, but I suppose it has something to do with my countenance. My brooding expression doesn't gain a whole lot of trust, even in my district. I remain unsurprised.

"Why are you helping me," she suddenly asks, gaze narrowed. We both know she's injured. She won't last much longer, even if I hadn't feed her poison. We both know that I plan on taking her things once she's dead.

So I don't bother lying, because it's rather pointless. I shrug, flicking my eyes up to hers. "I need a weapon." And also, I think, I've been wanting to kill you since I saw you in your Interview, acting all giddy and stupid.

My response doesn't seem to faze her, because she was probably anticipating it. She nods, keeps staring at me, and says, "I only have a dagger. There's no food in my backpack. The jacket's warm, though."

I wonder why she bothers to tell me this. Raising a brow, I murmur, "Alright." After a few minutes of silence, I see her eyes shift and know that the poison is finally kicking in. I decide to question her a bit. "The Careers – do you know how many there are?"

She shrugs and leans her head back. "Four, I think. District 1 has both tributes. There's one from District 2 and one from District 4." She swallows thickly as she says her own district, and then shifts her eyes to mine. There's something in her gaze that is honest, and I feel as though she's looking right through me.

Shakily, she wonders, "Do you really have no family or friends, or were you just saying that?"

The cameras are on us now, I think. There's no way they'd miss this bit of gossip. I stare at her for a long while, feeling the seconds roll by. When I respond, I do so in a quiet voice. "I have a mother and a sister." I don't mention Evon. I can't bear to say his name.

She nods, closing her eyes, "Then why...?" She trails off, but I know what she's asking.

I look into the fire, losing myself in the flames, "My sister is evil reincarnated, but no one sees it but me. My mother hasn't really looked at me since father left, because I look and act so much like him." _They're not my family, _I want to scream.

She nods again, smiling a bit, and reveals, "My father is gone, too. Drown a few years back. Life hasn't been quite the same..."

We share a look, and I suddenly feel connected to her. Guilt crawls at my chest, winding around my heart. I shouldn't have poisoned her, I think. She's so much like me...

But it's far too late. The poison is clearly taking her. Her eyes are closing, parts of her body spasms, and her breath is coming out in shallow pants. "I'm sorry."

She looks up at me, confused, and I continued, resting my chin on my hand as I stare intently at her. "I've poisoned you, you see. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't."

Her reaction isn't what I had anticipated. She stares right back, and then shrugs, seemingly indifferent. Softly, she whispers, "That's alright. I'd soon be dead anyway."

I watch as she drifts off into a poison-induced death. Before she goes under, she breathes, "...Make sure...you take my jacket...and...dagger..." And then, all is quiet. The silence is broken only by the sound of a canon blasting through the evening air.

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><p><strong>Thank you so much for the reviews! They definitely give me more incentive to keep the story up :) <strong>

**This is the last chapter I've got at the moment, and it might be a few days before I can update again cause I have to figure out where Wren's gonna go from here :3 Review if ya feel like it~**


	5. Death, Thou Shalt Die

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five | Death, Thou Shalt Die<strong>

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><p>I sit for a few seconds before moving, just staring at her face. There's just something so familiar about her. It's something I hadn't seen before; something that might just be inside me, as well.<p>

I shake out of my thoughts and realize that the hovercraft will be waiting to take her body away. I work quickly then, because I'm suddenly bombarded with fears of being found by the Careers. I stuff her smaller pack into my bag, fumble her jacket from her frail form, and slid it around me. There's no time to clasp it.

I take her dagger and her belt, shoving them into my bag as well. The tin can follows, along with anything else I can save. Then, I hurriedly throw snow over the fire and back up about ten feet, listening hard.

It's silent, but I can still see her as the hovercraft comes. I watch with that ever-present look in my eyes, showing no emotion except, maybe, guilt. When she's no longer laying in the snow, I see no other reason to stay in the open like this, and soon take to the trees once more. My path is soon determined, but I don't stay on it long. The evening is swiftly turning into night, and I'm forced to buckle down to sleep.

High up in the trees, I watch the remainder of the sunset. Somehow, I feel more alone than ever.

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><p><em>A bitter feeling claws into my heart as I stare at the empty tree. From the ground, I could see that no one was up there. The stark winter showed me that much.<em>

_I swing the lunch bag I'd brought around, twisting the knot in my hands. Though I am still peering up, trying to make sure Evon isn't there, I still hope. We had agreed to meet today, after all, and Evon never forgot._

_So then there must be a reason, I tell myself. Something must have happened and he can't make it today. It's happened before, of course, but he always comes to let me know before I pack the lunch and head into the forest... Well, something must have happened. I burn the words into my head, again and again, because the doubt is still clawing at my heart. He's nineteen. He doesn't always have time to hang out with me._

_After a few minutes, I still don't know what to do. On Monday afternoons, I always meet Evon up in our tree for lunch. The tradition started after I met him the first time, and somehow it stayed strong for years after. Something about how he loves my mother's cooking._

_I wonder if I should go up there anyway, because I am rather hungry. My stomach urges me to at least open the bag and nibble on something, but my mind screams at me that without Evon, it would be breaking tradition. So, dead set in my ways and unwilling to change – or realize that Evon already broke said tradition – I nimbly climb the tree._

_My feet and hands cling to the familiar foot holes diligently. It takes me seconds to reach our branch, but when I get there, I'm at a loss again. I want to keep waiting for him, because maybe he's been delayed at work and is on his way now, but something tells me that he won't be coming at all. Still, I sit there for a good fifteen minutes, keeping my hands away from the lunch bag._

_He's coming, I tell myself. He wouldn't miss being able to eat my mother's food. He loves coming up here every Monday. It's our tradition._

_But as the minutes slip by, I only desperately cling to my thoughts. I don't really believe them, but they're all I have. I'm being stupid, I whisper. So, so stupid. So what if Evon misses one day? He's got a life away from you. _

_And he does. He works in the forest cutting trees, from early morning to sunset. He gets only an hour break before he has to go back. Only an hour. Which is quickly spilling over._

_Finally, I realize that he isn't coming. That I'm being ridiculous and self-centered. I scold myself, suddenly not feeling very hungry. _

_Climbing down from the tree is harder than climbing up, but it takes me only a few seconds longer before my feet find the solid ground. I'm not sure what to do about my lunch bag. It's still full, unopened and uneaten, so as I dawdle back toward the center of District 7, I toss the food to a couple of hungry looking children. My mother would have gotten angry about that, but I don't care. I'm not planning on eating anyway._

_I don't know what I except to see at home. My mother will probably be doing some household chore, hanging out the laundry or beginning dinner. Calan will probably be out and about, flirting with the boys that follow her around like lost little puppies – ah, speak of the devil. Except she isn't really flirting this time, but rather locked in an embrace and sucking the face off of some poor soul._

_Her shocking blonde hair is impossible to miss, even though she's backed up in the corner of an alley behind the fabric store. If only mother could see her now, I think. Then maybe she'd realize what an evil bitch she is – "Wren?" I raise my eyes to my twin's, surprised that she noticed I was there. She looked pretty into kissing this idiot boy._

_I'm confused as I watch her mouth twist up into an ugly smirk. Why is she so happy? Is it because she thinks she's better because she's got boys hanging onto her every word and I don't?_

_My answer is given as soon as the boy turns around. There's a surprised expression on his face, which is so familiar. I stare at him, wide-eyed. Betrayal slices my heart in half. There is no mistaking that messy head of dark brown hair, or those eyes that stare heavily into me, twisted with shock and lust – lust. For my sister, Calan. It's always, always, always Calan._

_I stare at her, eyes darkening. She must like what she sees in them, because her smirk widens as she twists her fingers possessively into his hair. He's trying to catch my gaze, but I refuse to look at him. If I do, I'm afraid I might cry. Already, tears are spiking the back of my eyes._

_I don't want Calan to see the effect this has on me. I don't want her to lord it over me, find another way to make me beneath her. But I think it's too late, because with every second that I stand there, shell shocked, I can feel the pleasure escalating in her clear, beautiful blue eyes. Nothing like mine, I think. She's nothing like me._

_My doubts hit me like a ton of bricks, curling around my insides. Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. I'm glad I didn't eat, because I surely would have hurled right here if I had. And then, I realize why I didn't eat. Because Evon didn't come, for the first time in years, and I just couldn't break my stupid, superficial tradition because – because...I'm completely infatuated with him. And now, Calan is well aware._

_I don't know how I do it, but somehow, I turn. My hands are fisted at my sides, my nails breaking the skin. I run, anywhere, not caring about my direction. I just need to move my legs, see the colors whirl by and pretend like I'm not there, invisible, for no one to see. Because no one really does._

_Somehow, I end up at the edge of the forest, in a place I've never been. The scent of pine calms me, but only so much. My breathing is labored, both from my running and my emotions. I lean against a tree, pressing my forehead to the rough bark. It slowly brings me back to earth._

_At first, I can't think. All I can see if the image of Evon and Calan, curled up in each other's arms. He's her newest conquest. A toy. _

_I can't even wonder why he was with her. Hasn't he listened to me? Hasn't he agreed that Calan is no good? A devil, a fraud. We've talked about her so many times, spoke together about how ridiculous she is. But now, his words are poison. I try to stop myself from remembering, but I can't. My mind flashes back to all the Mondays that we spent together, up in our tree. All the evenings we spent, in the forest, or walking in town, or looking for a good tree to climb. We'd race each other to the top, try to get as far up as we could..._

_Somewhere in the midst of those times together, I must have become infatuated – realized how honest his smile is, and how lovely his hair shines when the light targets it just right. But it's too late now, I tell myself, and close my eyes tightly. Calan has her claws around him. She won't let go, because she knows what he means to me. Perhaps, she's always known._

_My heart pounds desperately against my chest. It's screaming, thrashing. I feel sobs bubbling up my throat, and I can't even stop them from spilling over my lips. My rough lips. Nothing like Calan's. _

_I'm nothing like Calan. Maybe that's what's wrong with me._

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><p>I'm seriously getting sick of these stupid dreams. As if I can't remember them clearly enough during the day, I have to revisit them during the night. It's dangerous, having such deep dreams. I could fall out of my tree, or scream and alert the Careers of my whereabouts. They could be here before I even wake up.<p>

But I'm awake now, and I can feel the dried tears on my cheeks and the panting of my chest. When did I start to cry? I slowly sit up, looking at the moon. It must be early morning, for the night still crawls around me. I'm suddenly afraid. I look around, feeling like I'm being watched. My eyes are wide and frantic, and I nearly loose my balance as I shift in my spot.

I swallow hard, shut my eyes tightly, and try to imagine the forests back home. It works for a few seconds, but then I remember my tree, and Evon, and Calan, and the fact that my District doesn't really like me all that much, and are probably jeering at me. Probably were wishing the Arena would take me since the moment I stepped into it.

I jerk my eyes open again, breathing even more labored. What's wrong with me? Am I having a panic attack? I scurry to my feet, swaying shakily before clutching to a nearby branch. There's something wrong. I can feel it in my gut. It's the reason I woke up, the reason I'm still up. Quickly, I grab my bag and toss it over me. Something is watching me, and it isn't the cameras.

My dagger doesn't make me feel any better, but it's better than having nothing at all. I want to climb higher, but I have a feeling that if I do, I'll be trapped. My gut tells me to stay put, not make a sound. But my labored breathing and the erratic beating of my heart gives away my location to whatever lurks out there.

It's a long moment before I hear it. It's the slightest shift of movement, near silent, but it pushes me over the edge. Literally. I fall down, limbs moving on their own as they swing toward the ground, grappling on whatever hold they can. My mind struggles to catch up, still laced with memory and sleep. When my back hits the ground at the base of the tree, I wake up completely. The cold snow forces me to scurry up, standing on bent knees as though ready to attack or run.

A low growl sends shivers racing through me. Is it a mutt? A big, snowy bear like the one that attacked the girl from District 4? Is it the same one?

But it isn't. At first, when I see the reflective eyes from the other side of my pine needle wall, I think that maybe my sentiment is true. But then my eyes adjust, and I can see the cat-like ears flattening out on it's head, the swish of it's long, thick tail, the curl of it's mouth, filled with razor sharp teeth... It's a bob cat, and from the way it's staring at me, I'm it's prey.

God, help me. I try to stay still, but my body isn't letting me think straight. The slightest shift on my legs send the beast after me, pushing off from it's powerful legs. It's paws are lined with deadly claws, rushing at me...

I feel like a deer, not knowing what to do. My dagger is useless against this creature. My gut tells me that it's not a normal bob cat, either. The Gamemakers will have sent something more substantial into the Arena. After all, it's just a game. A game that I refuse to lose.

My arm extends, and then throws the dagger forward. I don't know if it hit it's mark. I scurry backwards, grabbing a low branch and heaving myself up. When I'm ten feet in the tree, I pause and listen. Nothing.

But I don't think it's over. Bob cats can climb trees, too, to an extent. Mutations can do things that real animals shouldn't be able to do. I'm about to go higher when I hear it again, coming from my left. I move, but not fast enough. The claws dig into my skin, tearing through the muscles on my thigh. I want to scream, but the noise is stuck in my throat.

I cling to the tree trunk, eyes whipping around. There's a flash of grayish white to my right, but when I look, it's gone. I've got to get out of here, but I know the mutt will only follow until I'm dead. And I don't have my dagger.

I'm well aware that if I don't get out of the tree, I'll never be able to get said weapon back. My mind settles down, and my eyes scourge the ground below, looking for something...anything to use as a weapon. At first, it's hopeless. But then, I see a rock. It's large, bigger than my head, and it peeks out from the snow like a beacon. It's really the only chance I've got, so I climb down and try to ignore the sickening feeling of blood running down my leg.

I'm not really sure what's come over me as I run to the stone. It's like that moment, just before death, where your life flashes before you eyes. Only it's not my entire life, but the memories that mean to most to me. My father, Evon, the forest, our tree, eating lunch, the morning I woke up to find my father gone, the first time I held an axe and chopped my first tree down, the smell of pine, carrying firewood into the house, the mundane, childish conversations between Calan and I, before our rivalry made us hate each other...

I can hear it behind me, lurching toward me. It's in the air, claws outstretched, ready to dig into my back and tear me apart. My fingers grasp onto the smooth stone, shifting it from it's place. At first, it doesn't move. It's stuck in the cold ground. My movements become hasty and panicked. I hurry, pushing with all I've got, until finally, I rolls into my hands.

It's like my mind has shut down, and my body is moving by itself. Survival has ruled me, leading my actions as I shove the heavy stone forward. It leaves my hands, and for a moment, I'm struck with the feeling of bareness, as though I'm completely and utterly naked, without a private thought.

I'm suddenly the predator. I don't wait to make sure the stone reaches it's mark. I lurch forward, fingers closing on the hilt of the dagger that's buried deep in the creature's stomach. I force it out, bring it high over my head, and sink it back into the fur. The mutt howls, thrashing around. Claws scrap me, but it don't feel pain. I feel only adrenaline behind every movement. The dagger is taken out and pressed back in, again and again and again, even after the thing is long dead.

I can't stop. I don't feel like Wren Fey anymore, girl from District 7. I don't feel human. I'm an animal, a mutt, killing because it's the only thing I know how to do. The only thing that I _can_ do.

And I'm fine with it. It's only after I've calmed down and feel the pains fluttering over my body that I realize what happened. And I'm overcome with that naked feeling again. Calan is watching. Evon is watching. Mother and father and District 7, all watching as I turn from a barbarian to a stupid, stupid girl. I fall back into the snow, not caring if the entire world is watching me. Not caring that I'm completely vulnerable on the ground, and bleeding and hurting; hungry and on the verge of sleep, and maybe even death.

I long for death. I stare listlessly into the sky, so dark with night. What will it feel like, I wonder, to be dead? There will be no more Calan or Evon, no more bleeding, no more mutts, no more Arena, or Hunger Games, or Capitol. Sleeping is an image of death, I think, slowly feeling myself sinking away from reality. If sleep is so pleasurable, then surely death must be as well.

If I die, I can be with my father. The girl from District 4. The people who've come before me. The image of death doesn't seem so frightful anymore... My mind finally shuts down completely, turning black as the sky above.

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><p><strong>Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! :D I'm surprised that this story is even a little bit popular xD I don't usually write OCOC fanfics so it's a completely new experience for me. ****I feel bad for the girl from District 4, too, but it would have ruined the storyline if she was kept alive. Everything happens for a reason, I suppose. ****I'll try to get another chapter written for tomorrow. It's sorta hard to STOP writing, to be honest. :3 I think I'm gonna start going over some of the Chapter points, cause I want to actually write something important in my Author Notes pftt Here's a few:**

**1. Evon's character is being explained through flashbacks. Ultimately, Calan's character will also be developed in a similar way. I'm planning on writing parts of upcoming chapters in their POVs, in order to document life back in District 7, and how the people really feel about Wren.**

**2. The attack from the Bob Cat Mutt signifies that the Arena is a much more dangerous place than Wren realized. She's sorta been floating around until now. I want to up the suspense and write more scenes likes that, because this is a battle between life and death and I'm not sure I'm getting that point across.**

**3. I keep mentioning her father. Don't know if any of you noticed. She doesn't know if he's alive or dead, so depending on her thought process and situation, he can be either in her mind. There IS a reason I keep bringing him back...it just won't be revealed for a while XD**

**The next chapter is something to do with the mountain. Maybe the Careers. Not sure yet. If you have ideas for the story, let me know~!**


	6. The World as I Know It

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Six | The World as I Know It<strong>

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><p>I don't know who I am when I wake up, or where I am, or why I'm laying in a pile of snow. All I know is that I'm freezing, and that there's a dull aching in my legs.<p>

Sitting up is painful. At first, all I can see is the whiteness of the snow mixed with dancing colors. My head spins around wildly, leaving me dazed and sick. When my eyes catch sight of the rest of my body, I can't even keep myself from hurling. I empty my stomach into the snow, coughing up blood and feeling even more lightheaded than before.

It must have snowed last night, because my body is sprinkled with the white flakes. As I heave myself into a sitting position, I take a quick look over myself. My clothes are tattered from the struggle with the mutt, and there are angry looking scratches all over my limbs. But it's my legs that are worst. I can't see the full extent of the damage, but it looks bad. My pants are dried with blood, which has splattered all over the fabric, from my thighs to my ankles. The blood has stuck to my skin, and even the slightest movement makes it peel and anger the wound, which I can feel searing all the way to my knee.

I don't know what happened to the Bob Cat mutt, but the body has disappeared. I wish it hadn't. Perhaps I could have used the fur for something. In the back of my mind, though, I'm sort of glad I don't have to pull the body apart. I don't know if I could do that.

It's clear that, in my condition, I won't be able to take to the trees any longer. I roll over, rise onto my knees, and hold back a gasp of pain. At least I have one leg that's unharmed.

My survival is now completely dependant on reaching the mountain by nightfall. The goal doesn't seem to be too high, because I can see it now. I can only guess the distance, but I venture to assume it's about a three mile walk. Three miles on a wounded leg isn't good, but it could be worse. I keep telling myself that as I take the remaining bandages from the pack and wrap them haphazardly around my leg.

I need to find a cave for the night, so that I can take care of my leg. I can't rely on Sponsors for medicine, because at this point, I doubt I even have any. Luckily, I know a few remedial qualities about some plants that may help. I'll have to keep my eyes out as I walk, because once I find shelter, I don't plan on moving for a while.

I feel like the girl from District 4 as I hobble though the trees. I'm leaving such an obvious trail, but once I reach the mountain I'll be ok. Even when it starts to flurry, I keep telling myself that. The mountain has become a symbol of safety. If I reach it, I'll survive.

I have to stop after a mile, because my leg has started bleeding again. I lower myself onto the ground, panting from the strain, and take a look at the wound. The useless bandages have hardly done anything. I unwrap them, press some snow to the wound, and then rewrap the bindings over the snow. I proceed to wrap the other bandages, from my hands, around it as well.

It feels better for about half a mile. The temperature has decreased rapidly, and it's good for my sanity if I can't feel the wound. But in the back of my mind, I know that the numbness is actually bad. And the rest of my body is starting to feel numb, too, not just my leg. If I don't get to the mountain soon, there's a high chance that I'll get hypothermia.

By the time I reach the last mile, I can see the base of the mountain. I'm so close, so close, but my body just wants to collapse and not take another step. There are sharp winds cutting over me, now, but even the jacket I took from the District 4 girl doesn't do much to break the wind. It's now snowing so hard that my vision has become clouded. I try to keep a straight path, but it's hard. So hard to keep moving at all.

Keep it up, I whisper, aloud or in my mind. You're almost there. Just a few more steps. I can see it now, feel the warmth of the cave. You can make a fire when you get there. No one will see the smoke in this snow storm. You'll be warm, warm, warm.

When I trip over a jagged stone, I cry out. My hands rush out to break my fall, landing on a rough surface. It's rock. Everywhere. My fingers brush out, all around me, and all I can feel is the rock. Relief spreads over me.

With the knowledge that I'm nearly there, my mind hardens. My body forces itself to push forward. I'm crawling now, over the stone, in an upward motion as I trek towards safety. Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.

The farther up I climb, however, the more my heart sinks. How will I be able to find a cave with the wind and the snow tumbling over me? I can hardly see three feet ahead of me.

But my answer comes in the strangest way. A deep voice sounds in my mind. At first, I think it's my own voice, but as I pull myself up, I realize that it sounds vaguely like father. He's really dead, then. Leading me forward, pulling me up, telling me that there's a cave just to my right...a place to find comfort, safety. I feel like a child coming into his arms, when he used to take me far into the forest and show me all the different types of trees. He could name them all just by looking at their leaves, could love them just by running his fingers over their bark. True beauty, he'd once told me, was when you could look past what you see on the surface and find something greater. Something invaluable.

I don't even realize when I stumble into the cave. All I can feel is the dryness that it brought. My cheek isn't pressed into snow, but rather cold stone. My eyes droop heavily and then close. All I can see is the face of my father, smiling his broad smile, eyes twinkling with hidden mirth, lifting me up into his arms and spinning me around.

It was an image that I hadn't remembered in a long, long time. It was before father had left, when our family was still very happy and my mother still looked at us all with her shining, beautiful eyes. When Calan and I still loved each other more than anything. When we'd spend practically every moment together, whispering back and forth in our beds after the lights were turned off, sitting huddled together before the fireplace during rough winters, cuddled together in the crook of our father's arms while he told us stories before bed...

The coldness creeps up my body, making me delirious. I can't move, can't open my eyes. Am I dying? Now I'm afraid. Death really isn't something I want. I want to see Calan again, because I really don't hate her. She's my sister. The sister I'm jealous over, because she's always been better than me. Has the better personality. Could make people love her with just a few short words. I don't realize what I'm doing until I've already done it. My mouth opens, my eyes lift up to stare heavily at the opposite wall, and my voice, rough and low, whispers a pitiful, "...Cal...an..."

Then, my head falls back down, hard against the rock floor, and I fall away from the world as I know it.

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><p><em><strong>District 7, Fey House<strong>_

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><p>The room is as silent as death. Every eye is turned to the screen, which is now fixed upon a different tribute who is still in the forest. But the moment hasn't passed, and every breath still hangs precariously still.<p>

The room is small. A few townspeople are also huddled in it. Close family friends stand around Mrs. Fey as she leans heavily on the counter. Dinner sits, cold in front of her. No one is hungry anymore.

The desperation in Wren's voice is plain to hear. Her eyes are more emotional than anyone had ever seen. In a tiny exhalation, Mrs. Fey closes her eyes. The neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, places a hand on her shoulder in silence. Still, nothing is spoken.

And then, finally, everything falls back together. People shuffle, walking away from the TV to help hand out plates. Someone gets glasses and fills them with water. Light chattering fills the silence, but Evon doesn't speak. And neither does Calan, whose face is pale.

People sneak glances at her at they eat. Her mother hadn't expected Wren would call out Calan's name. Evon, perhaps, but not Calan. It is a shock that no one can really grasp. So they don't try to.

Mostly, nobody eats. Calan pushes her food around with her fork, staring down emotionlessly. She wants to feel something – anything – but all she can think about is how her sister is in the Arena. It's still not something she has accepted.

She'd thought she was happy about it. But without Wren here, she has no reason to stay with Evon. Her blonde hair falls into her face, and she can feel his eyes on her. Does he even like her? She thought he did, but the way his eyes haven't left the TV screen since the start of the Games makes her think not. It's Wren, of course. Wren is the only one he thinks about. As she tries to make herself eat, she can't find herself caring all that much.

The chattering raises up a level as eyes return to the screen. Wren is not being shown. The cameras have left the other tribute in the forest and are now focused on the Career pack as they curl around the mountain.

" – _pretty far away from her. It'll take them two days, tops, before they reach – "_

"_She's strong. She'll survive this – "_

" – _could use an ally – "_

" – _District 4, now that would have been a good choice. So alike..."_

She felt herself stand suddenly, and her random movement made the murmurs die down as people directed their eyes to her. Calan could feel something curl around her heart. It wasn't like anything she'd felt before. It wasn't the jealousy that she'd often felt toward Wren and Evon, or the annoyance of when her father would always pick Wren over her. This was different. It swelled through her like wildfire, spitting up it's flames and make her eyes darken with every passing second.

How dare she say her name. How dare she pretend as though she didn't hate her. Calan's hand fisted tightly around her fork. She wished she was there, in the Arena, because she _hated _hearing the words of her District. District 7 was supposed to _hate _Wren. Calan was supposed to be the center of it all. The special twin. The one everyone wanted to be.

But now, people were bent on Wren. They watched the TVs as though they were completely and utterly addicted. Every movement warranted some sort of reaction. The people cheered her on, were raising money even now, loved Wren's strong personality and stubborn attitude. And Calan felt very much overlooked.

Her hatred crawled at her heart, contorting her expression as she glared at the TV screen. The image of her sister, laying in the mouth of the cave sent shivers of disgust through her. _She hated her_.

So blatant was her fury that the boy beside her didn't even have to look at her to feel what she felt. Evon just sat there, facing the TV and purposefully keeping his body rigid. He felt her loathing eyes, once such a lovely shade of blue, draw over him. And he didn't shift his own eyes to meet hers. He just ignored her, mind thinking only of the girl with the black hair and the biting words, who was so very far away from him. Who was hurt because of him. For whom his heart was utterly aching over.

Another tense minute, and Calan furiously threw herself from the house, wishing, hoping, yearning for her sister's death. Because Wren had so much more than she did. She had Evon, the boy who would never give up on her. And she had nothing.

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><p><em><strong>The Arena, Wren's POV<strong>_

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><p>The wound was better than I thought it was. Upon waking up and seeing the blizzard still very much alive, I don't think twice about starting a fire. No one would ever be able to see the smoke with all the snow.<p>

It takes a few aching minutes collecting snow in the tin can and heating it over the fire, and then I begin washing my leg. Stretching it out feels good, if not a little sore, and it's easier to peel off the bloodied pants to get better access to the scars.

After it is clean, I really take a good look at it. My eyes are brooding as I stare, entranced by the angry red lines. They're large, running the length of my thigh and not stopping until they reached my knee. Though it aches like no tomorrow, I'm relieved that I can feel the pain. It's a sign that it'll heal.

As I chew on some pine needles, I assess my situation. I have no medicine, no food, and a limited amount of time before someone shows up. I also have only a dagger for defense. I'm injured, hungry, and desperate. Never a good combination.

The only thing I really have is willpower. And a good shelter. And time to spend in which the other tributes may not have. Many of them are probably in the blizzard. I know I'm lucky to have found this cave.

I decide to make use of what I have, because I'd be stupid not to. I go out and collect more snow to heat up. I peel off pieces of clothe bit by bit, washing each separately and waiting until they're dry before washing another. It's an excruciatingly slow process, but I feel dirty and bloody. If nothing else, it'll make me feel better about my situation.

When I finish with the last piece of clothe and hang it by the fire to dry, I'm left with trying to put together an adequate dinner. I finish off the cheese and the berries, which I warm a little by the fire since they're both rock hard. I make some pine needle tea. I chew on some of the plants I had collected the day before. But it's not enough, and my stomach still rumbles, unsatisfied. I close my eyes, hands over my abdomen, and scold myself for not making use to that Bob cat mutt when I had the chance. It's useless to complain, though. It's not going to get me anywhere.

So for the rest of the day, I sit there, keeping my fire going and stretching out my leg. Sometimes, I walk around the cave to get my blood going. I tell myself over and over again that I'll find food soon.

Every so often, I change bandages. I collect new snow to wash them in. I wet my face and get the dirt and grim from my cheeks. But I feel as hollow as my actions. I have no plan. No idea where I'm going. I thought of leaving my cave frightens me, but I know it's only a matter of time before hunger drives me outside.

It's late into the night when the first stab of hunger comes. I keel over, clutching my stomach, and groan. I wonder if this is why the Games have gotten their name. Is it because the tributes often starve to death? Or is it because the contestants are so overcome by the will to survive that they become inhuman, hungry for the blood of other tributes? Somehow, I think it's a little bit of both.

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><p><strong>Heya! Thanks for the feedback! :D Chappa Points:<strong>

**1. By getting Wren out of the forest, she'll be out of her element and will therefore be suscepible to harm. This will drive all the tributes together and hopefully up the suspense...and all that good shtuff~**

**2. POV change where Calan becomes more of a bitch than she already is...Not sure what I was doing with that. I guess I just wanted to get some Evon-Wren action and explain how the District doesn't hate Wren. I feel sorta bad for Calan...I might redeem her character by the end of this lovely fic, but I might decide to be a whore about it pftt**

**That's all for now. I feel like I cut that chapter off too soon, but I'm going to start the next one and hopefully get that posted by Sunday :3 Thanks for reading and listening to me ramble! **


	7. Leap of Faith

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven | Leap of Faith<strong>

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><p>Help has a way of coming to me in the strangest of ways. It is midday when it happens. The sound of footsteps lures me from the daze that has been mine for the past day. I look up, head jolting in surprise, and feel my heart pick up in a sudden sprint. Though I feel slow, I hurry to put out my fire and edge away from the center of the cave. I gather my bag and stumble into the shadows, eyes intently watching the mouth of the cave.<p>

My fingers curl around my dagger tightly as I wait. The footsteps get louder, echoing off the walls as two figures gasp and fall into the warmth. The blizzard has lessened, but heavy flurries of snow still fall. There is a desperate air surrounding the two newcomers.

My eyes narrow imperceptibly, but I can't make out who they are. It's only when one opens his mouth to speak that I realize...

"We'll be safe here, for a while," he gasps out, kneeling on the floor of the cave in much the same way as I had when I first stumbled into it. His chest his heaving and he's shivering harshly, his fists curled up in a tight clench. There's a girl beside him, but I don't remember her. She's nodding her head, but there's a sheen in her eyes that tells me that she doesn't really hear him.

It's Matt, the boy from District 7. My supposed teammate who scored a 9 while I got a lowly 6. I'm brooding now, trying to think of ways to kill them. I'm too weak to engage them in a brawl, but I know I have to somehow dispose of them, because my eyes are now locking to the weapon secured at the girl's hip. A sword, shining silver and thin as a rapier. I know I must have it.

It takes them another minute to crawl deeper into the cave. When they notice the fire that's still burning out, their reaction is immediate. The girl tugs out the sword, but her movements are so sloppy that it's obvious to me how incompetent she is with it. Matt draws out a hunting knife, eyes darting around the shadows. I slink back as far as I can, pressing myself to the wall and trying to become invisible. If I go out there now, it'd be two against one. And even though they're injured and weak, so am I. No: I need to pick one of them off before going after the other.

There are plenty of rocks stacked up where I'm crouching, so it isn't too difficult to shield myself from their watchful eyes. I scowl, feeling my thigh burn in pain at the position of my leg. Whatever is going through Matt's head – since he's clearly the one in charge – is apparently more centered around fleeing rather than fighting. He doesn't appear to see me, and straightens up before turning to the girl.

"I think we should find somewhere else to camp out. The Careers might have already claimed this cave." The girl nods, but doesn't sheath her sword. Matt takes one last glance at the fire before the two back out, still tensely watching.

His words leave me at a standstill. Why would they think I'm a Career? Why would they leave without even checking the rest of the cave, to make sure there isn't anyone else here? He surely didn't see me, because if he had, I doubt he would feel any remorse in my death. No...there's something else going on. Something that clearly has to do with the Career pack.

I wait a few long, drawn out minutes before revealing myself again. Certain that the cameras are locked to my face, I keep my expression neutral. But the puzzle is still in my eyes, and I don't understand why Matt and the girl left so quickly.

It is only when I begin to follow them that I come to a startling realization, and I wonder how it could have escaped me before. The Careers must be nearby. Matt must have seen them and that's why they are so intent on hiding themselves. But when they saw the fire and the signs of the cave's inhabitancy, he must have decided that the Careers were using it. And perhaps, he thought they might be very close, otherwise he wouldn't have left in such a hurry.

The thought of running into the Career pack left me feeling vulnerable. I definitely didn't want to get involved with them without an adequate weapon, and the only way to get one is to follow that girl and obtain her sword.

Following their tracks isn't very difficult, because even though it's still snowing, their footprints leave inches in the thick blanket of snow that's settled on the path. My thigh is screaming at me to stop, but I keep going, face stoic and body well rested from the day in the cave. I feel much better. Good enough, perhaps, to take my second kill. Except this time, a voice in my head whispers, it'll be bloody. Not a peaceful poison-induced death, but an animalistic, stabbing wound.

I'm not sure how long I walk until I see their figures ahead, but I'm sure it's a little over a quarter of a mile, at least. By now, the coldness has slightly numbed the pain in my thigh, leaving me feeling chill but refreshed. As though I wasn't really here, in the Arena. As though I wasn't about to kill, or be killed.

As I crawl over the tiny path, I begin to realize exactly how prevalent my death really is. I'll never survive if the both of them see me. I've already realized that I must pick one off and then go in for the other one, but I've yet to figure out how to do that. I know I'm losing time: every second is precious when you're exposed like this, to both nature and the other Tributes.

I finger my dagger, watching them through narrowed eyes as I skirt around the cliff. If I could throw the dagger into one of them, it might distract the other in time to rush in and kill them. Except that I'm not very good with throwing daggers. How I managed it before was a mystery. And this is my only weapon, so if I throw it and it misses the target, my presence will be revealed and I'll be as good as dead.

I only have one chance. I grip the handle, palms feeling sweaty. I've got no other resources, and I'm running out of time. I need that damned sword. I raise the dagger, arm winding back, and I pause. I take a few steps, away from the cliff face, calculating the distance between myself and Matt, whom I aim to kill. And then, I utter a fleeting prayer and let the dagger go.

It doesn't hit him in the chest, like I had hoped. Instead, it skims past his leg, digging just slightly into his calf before hissing into the air and disappearing. I curse, throw myself back into the shadows, but the damage has already been done. The girl has seen me.

Apparently, someone has heard my prayer. Matt's balance was jostled when the dagger scraped him, and he topples over a little bit. The cliff path is so narrow that his feet shift, and his arms lunge out to keep him from falling. The girl takes a step toward me, hand just about to pull out the sword. Her eyes are glaring fitfully into mine, pushing herself forward...and then Matt's hand knocks into her, grasping as he tumbles away, trying to keep himself on the edge of the cliff.

The moment comes and goes, so fast that I have trouble keeping up as I watch them both lose their balance and fall. The last thing I see is the dark strands of the girl's hair as she follows him down.

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><p>The canon doesn't immediately go off. I keep myself pressed to the cliff edge for a long minute, staring at the place the two Tributes had just stood. It takes a while for me to come back to my wits and realize what just happened, because it is more than I can hope for...and also, the worst thing that could happen.<p>

I push myself off, falling to my knees as I peer over the cliff. They aren't dead yet, because still no canons can be heard. I can just vaguely see their darkened figures laying, maybe 20 to 30 feet below. It's impossible to tell the distance with the snow covering my vision, but I know it's too far for me to jump, lest I break a bone and accept the same fate as them.

My sword is down there, I realize, face paling. And now my dagger is gone, too. I have no weapon left, and no food. I grit my teeth, glaring, and an angry curse flies from my lips. I'll have to climb down before the canon goes off. It's my only chance of surviving the rest of the day.

I'm aware that my thigh can't really take the climb, but I'm also aware that my life hangs on the edge of a knife now. I lower myself down, hands gripping the sides of the cliff while my feet find a hold, and then begin what has to be the deadliest journey I've ever attempted.

I'm glad I've grown up in District 7 and can climb a tree with my eyes closed and my wrists bound, because the skill is what I'm primarily depending upon. My senses have been dulled by my hunger and the pain in my leg, so it takes longer than it would have to make the descent. But I go, as quickly as I can without falling.

When I'm halfway down, the first canon goes off. I curse again, and hurry. In the midst of my quickened movements, my foothold slips and I very nearly fall. I'm hanging by the hands now, trying deftly to find a new hold. It takes a good minute, and in that minute, the second canon goes off.

By now, I know that if I don't get down within the next few seconds, the hovercrafts will come and I'll be stuck here for no reason. There's only one way to get down in such little time, though, and I'm not keen on jumping. But it's the only way, I tell myself. If I don't jump, then I'll be done for either way. It's either fall or die anyway. Fall or die. I choose the former.

I land less than gracefully, tumbling down about 10 feet before feeling my body cascading into a deep blanket of snow. It's good that there is some form of protection, but my body still hits the frozen ground and the remnants of rock, and it's no less sore.

I can see them, laying dead about 6 feet away, so I crawl diligently over to them. I think my lips might be frozen, because as I go, I'm biting them and I can't feel the pain. My fingers are completely exposed to the snow, too, and they're now rough and red from my descent down the cliff.

When I reach my opponents bodies, I hurry as fast as I can. I undo the belt around the girl's waist and pause for only a second to admire the sword. I strap the belt around my waist, scavenge around their pack, and throw the bag around my other arm. Then, I grab Matt's hunting knife and toss it into my bag, weasel him out of his jacket, and push myself up.

I have a feeling I'm on camera, because what just happened probably made for a good show, and I smirk wildly as I straighten my back. I take one look around, eyes darting up to the cliff I'd just fallen from, and quickly decide on a course of action. I'll have to find a new shelter, and I'm more accepting to the trees than the caves. I feel freer up there, less confined, and I have a good look out. If the Careers happen to come by, I'll be able to see them before they see me.

That in mind, I turn East, toward the forest. The snow, which has only gotten heavier as it rains from the sky, will cover my footsteps. That, and the new gear I carry, is my only source of happiness.

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><p><strong>D: Sorry it's such a short chapter! I meant to make it longer, but I got sorta bored pftt.. Just wanted to say thanks to IDreamtOfHim for reviewing all the chapters :3 You're primarily the one that's given me the motivation to keep updating~! I'm sorta afraid that Wren is too much like Katniss...arg but I can't help it. Wren's attitude is basically like all my other OCs xD But anyway, I don't really have any chapter points today since this chapter was mostly filler stuff. All I can say is that Chapter 8 is going to be mostly in District 7's POV, with Evon and Calan. If it's not long enough, I might throw Wren into it at the end. <strong>

**Keep reviewing and I shall be a happy writer~ ^-^**


	8. Guessing to the Second Power

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight | Guessing to the Second Power<strong>

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><p><strong>District 7 POV: Evon<strong>

It would have been undeniably peaceful, had the situation been any different. But even the swift stroke of his axe doesn't lessen the furious worries from Evon's mind. He can imagine countless endings, and none of them are good. There are so many ways for Wren to die...too many to even think that she stands a chance at all...

But she's made it this far already, hasn't she? More than half of the original tributes are now dead. If she can only hold out for another few days, then she could be home by the end of the week. Evon pauses, scowls, and then berates himself for even thinking such things. Even if she does make it home as the Victor, she'll be different. Not the Wren he's known for all these years, but rather one hardened by the experiences of the Arena.

He's seen it happen to many other Victors. Too many fall into despair. Drink themselves to death, or to another reality or madness. Kill themselves by other methods. Death, that is all a Victor can know. Death in the Arena, and death out of it.

But he would help her. He wouldn't give up on her. He's learned his lesson – learned it from the first moment he saw that scorching betrayal in her eyes – and he knew right then and there that he'd never bring it out of her again. No. He glanced down at the wood he was chopping, that brooding expression spilling over. Never again.

His arms draw back, muscles bulging as he lifts his axe above his head. A quick, heavy hit and then the splintering sound of wood cracking follows his actions. In the forest, surrounded by the trees and immersed in the familiar actions of his work, Evon can think easier. There is no Calan to distract him, to make his guilt play at the forefront of his mind. There is no Wren, either. He can simply be himself; can loose himself until the sun marks the end of the working day.

But the sun is still bright in the sky, only noon, and he has a long way to go. Though he is thankful for the task, he can't help but wonder what's going on in the Fey house. Is Wren on screen right now? Is she...no. He can't think of her death.

The troubled source of his thoughts makes his movements slow, and when he brings his axe down again, the wood splinters only halfway. He frowns, willing himself not to curse, and pries the two pieces apart with his fingers.

Vaguely, he can hear the other workers nearby, hidden by the trunks of the trees. Chopping wood is mundane work, and he can hear the chatters of various men as they attempt to relieve the tiresome strain. He is glad he is not part of them, for he knows what they are talking about and he doesn't want to join in.

Wren has quickly gone from being the girl who no one really cared for to the talk of the town. In a few short days, her popularity has escalated to a point that shocks even Evon. He wonders what she'd say, if she knew how much the District is trying to do for her. Raising money for the Arena is hard work, because anything sent in is likely equal to a year's salary to any workman in the lumber business. But people are doing it, because they had never noticed how enigmatic Wren could be, how lovingly stubborn and completely beautiful – he clears his throat and lifts his axe up again. This time, the wood split with much more precision.

Some of the men are starting to pack up for lunch. Mostly, they go home to eat with their families, because each worker has a full hour's break. Evon would usually do the same, except that today, his mind is working overtime and isn't letting his body stop. Besides, he isn't hungry and since his mother had long since been spending ever waking hour at the Fey house, he doesn't want to return to Mrs. Fey's ashen face...or Calan, for that matter.

But alas, nothing ever works out as desired. Evon does pause in his work, leaning against a nearby tree as he surveys the rest of the work he has to do for the day. He doesn't rest for long, though, because the quickened sound of footsteps tug him out of his reverie...and into the seemingly pleasant expression of Calan.

She's walking up to him, hand fastened around a red and white checkered clothe that looks startlingly familiar. Immediately, Evon is thrust back in time, replaying Monday afternoons spent with Wren up in their tree, and the guilt once again washes over him.

"I knew you wouldn't return," she says, eyes twinkling up at him. Though they seem as clear as they had before the Hunger Games had begun, Evon can see the anger welled up within them. It is as blatant as a tornado through a forest and forlorn as ever, and the guilt increases tenfold. "So I decided to bring you some lunch," she finishes, placing the clothe down on the chopping block he had just been using.

For a long moment, they both stare at each other, unmoving. And then, everything breaks apart as Evon shifts forward. He isn't hungry, but he forces himself to open the lunch anyway.

He is aware of her calculating gaze on him while he eats; can feel the dimmed fury of her emotions. And he knows how fine a line they tread these days, and how neither of them really cares. Why, he wonders softly, do they even play the game then? Even he cannot answer his own question.

"You're not hungry?" he asks, but doesn't pause and wouldn't even if she was. Still, she shakes her head and gracefully falls beside him, legs curling beneath her as she presses herself against his side, as though seeking a comfort that wasn't there.

He stiffens, but doesn't shift away, because it's just a game, after all. It was always just a game, he realizes. Because it was always, always Wren, even if he didn't see it before.

Still, the game is played. Calan tilts her head slightly, so that her face is very close to his. He knows that this is the time that he should lean down to kiss her, but he can't think of a reason why. He does anyway, but it is a cold action, tempered behind chilling eyes. They both draw away faster than a real couple would have, but neither question it because neither cares. Calan watches him finish the lunch before beginning to wrap away the remains and tuck them back into the clothe.

She is about to get up. She moves to, shifts her weight onto her legs, but suddenly Evon reaches out to hold her arm, stopping her. Her expression is emotionless as she turns to him, but there is an obvious question lingering behind her frigid blue eyes. A question that he wonders aloud not a moment later.

He is aware that it is an overly bold thing to ask, but he can't stop it from flying from his lips. When he had stopped her, he hadn't known what he would say, only that he wanted to say _something_. But one look into those eyes – those freezing eyes – and he couldn't control his words.

Like poison, they seized her, making her mouth drop at the audacity. And then, after a mere moment of shock, the anger comes. Her eyes narrow, spitting up flames, and she curls her lips distastefully. Her hands itch to slap him, but instead, she settles for a sneering, "I'm aware." And then she is gone, sprinting through the trees like a nymph, evading the tree trunks as though she isn't even there at all.

His eyes darkens as he watches her leave, but he cannot feel bad for his question. And her answer – the indignance in her surprise – has told him all he needs to know.

_When she dies, you'll be alone. Do you know that?_

Because he can't even hope that Wren will come back to him. She is far too gone already.

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><p><strong>District 7 POV: Calan<strong>

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><p>Blonde tresses fly everywhere, untamed and uncaring as snarls curl together. Her pale fingers brush against a tree, here and there, so as to keep her balance. But after running for what feels like ages, she misses her mark and plunges to the forest floor.<p>

She doesn't know she's crying until she touches her cheeks and feels heavy tears. As they cling to her fingertips, Calan stares at them. As though they are a foreign thing that she's never seen. But she has seen them before, all too much, and so she flings her fingers to her dress, hurriedly drying them in shame.

Why should she cry? Surely it wasn't because she missed Wren! No, no. it had to be about what Evon said, and how she had found truth in his words, blatant and hungry.

She feels alone now, so it shouldn't be any different to how it will – may – feel when Wren doesn't return. Evon hasn't been there for her anyway. He so obviously misses her sister and has realized Calan's true personality. Surely, she has already lost him.

But what of her mother? Her hatred for Wren only surfaced that one time, amid all the neighbors. And ever since, her mother had ceased looking at her as though she were the most special daughter. Instead, she has turned such affection to the TV screen, and to the dying girl that inhabits it.

The tears build, spilling down her face like a flood. She can hear her heartbeat strumming quickly in her ears, pounding against her chest as though trying to find a way out. She _wants _to tear it out, wants to submit to the cold that surrounds her. Because Evon's words hit her harder than she thought they could. They made her realize just how alone she is, and has always been.

Her head tilts up, suddenly recognizing the area of the forest she is sitting in. It is a place she has come to, in secret, most every day. An area that she'd thought she was banned from as a child, because this tree has always belonged to her father and Wren, and never had any place for her.

Her hands skid over the rough bark. She can feel her anger resurface, but this time, it is entwined with confusion, aggravation, hopelessness. Her nails rack over it and she is suddenly overcome by her emotions as they are released around her. She is a whirlwind of unsettled empathy. It makes her quake and shudder and takes her farther down, down, down into the blackness that has settled over her heart.

And she absolutely cannot think. She is restless for movement, but she cannot run. Her body is as shaky as her heart, which dangles at the edge of a cliff, just like her sister...exactly like her sister...

Her emotions scatter and then rebound, forming a hardened determination that builds inside her. It overtakes her mind, steels the pounding of her agitated heart, and leaves her utterly gasping for breath. Her thoughts are still miles away, but she doesn't need them. It is not thought that forces her movements, but rather her willpower, which lashes around her faster and tighter than any emotion.

What enters her head next is a silly idea, but she can't pause as she pushes herself up. Her fingers cling to a hold on the tree, stops for a mere moment, and then begins pulling herself into it.

It has always been sacred territory to Wren. But Calan isn't climbing to deter the sacredness. She is climbing because she doesn't know what else to do. Because she wants to feel the warmth of her father embrace, even though it is long gone. Because she needs to prove herself, that she can be just as amazing as Wren – just as stubborn, just as quick. And, she thinks softly as she catches herself, because I want to be worthy of what Wren feels. Of how Evon feels. Of that hopeless romance that builds up between so many people, and yet always seems to avoid myself.

But when all is said and done, and she stands tall atop the branch that has housed so many lunches and meetings, Calan doesn't feel anything. There is nothing, now, that backs up the beating of her heart. There is nothing that steels her mind.

She slowly glances back to earth, far away from her, and swallows hard. She wonders how she will ever get down. She wonders if she is even meant to get down.

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><p><strong>Another short chapter..eh, sorry. The next one will be a lot longer and will mainly feature Wren. But I thought I needed to dedicate one whole chapter to District 7. Hopefully Calan's character is a little more understood..that was what I was going for xD She's on the path to redemption *sigh*<strong>

**And don't worry about me not finishing the story! I have the whole thing outlined and I even have an ending figured out, so all I have to do is write it all up. It may take a while, but I'm so into writing this that I have a feeling it'll be completed~ I'm even considering a sequal with Katniss, Peeta, and District 13...but I won't scare you all away yet haha **

**Anyway, thank you so much for the amazing review, IDreamtOfHim! And feel free to drop more reviews on your way out, lovely readers :3 And meh..I'm too lazy to write Chapter points. I think you all know the reason for this chapter was to develop my other chars anyway**


	9. What Remains of Summer

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine |<strong> **What Remains of Summer**

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><p><strong>Arena POV<strong>

I scowl at the thick leather in my hands. My fingers, which are freezing cold and shivering, cannot grasp the thin needle, and it slides inadequately over the leather as I try to stick it through.

After finding a tall tree fairly close to the base of the mountain, I sat down to rest and recover from the action. With Matt and the girl's death came a new found confidence. I'm actually starting to think I have a chance at winning. Because with my new sword, I feel like the most powerful tribute in the Arena.

I'm still not safe, though. I have enough of my wits about me to remember that I'm still injured and weak. Even with my sword, I probably wouldn't make it very far in a fight. Which means that I'm still at a clear disadvantage, and I still have no plan on how to remedy that.

Which is why I'm sitting, 30 feet in the air, cursing the leather in my hands. I wish, for a moment, that I knew if there was a tribute left from District 8 – the textile district – because they'd probably know the secret to sewing through stiff, frozen leather.

Still, I try, because the fact that I still have no gloves is really worrying me. If my hands are frozen, I won't be able to properly hold my sword, which is the only defense I've got. I'm already at a loss to do other things, as well. Climbing the tree I'm now in took way longer than it normally would have.

After a while, I give up. I'm getting no where and there could be other, better things in which to fill my time. The sun is gradually setting, as well. I only have a few more hours left before darkness washed over the landscape, and even though I now have food to last at least two days, it's the _only _thing I've got.

I need a plan, and fast. The Careers can't be too far away by now. Where the other Tributes are, I've no idea. Since I've not seen any of them, other than my run in today with Matt, I wonder if they've gone further into the mountain. There are probably plenty of deep caves which would offer good protection...but with the Careers running about, would anyone risk it? Maybe, I think. Maybe if they have an ally.

I shift, trying to get a more comfortable position, and begin to dig through my bag. I pull out small serving of food, because my stomach is absolutely killing me, and chew on it. It's not much, because I want to spread out my provisions as long as I can. But it at least quenches the discomfort in my abdomen, and gives me something to do as well.

I can't stay in this tree forever, I tell myself. Soon, I'll have to leave. Because spending the night out here is a bad idea. Even though I have two other jackets and my vest, I can still feel the sharpness of the wind as it cuts through the fabric. I could probably make it, but I really don't _want _to.

Which means that I'll have to make my way back to the mountain. Toward the Careers and possibly my death. Huh. Choices, choices. Suddenly, the thought of freezing in my tree doesn't sound so bad.

It doesn't take long for my to finish my meal. Soon, I sit up, dangle my legs off the branch, and look around. It'll take me at least two hours to make it back to my cave. Perhaps another hour to find a new one – because that's what I should do, if Matt's reaction before had anything to say on the matter. What I need is to find a shelter that's fairly hidden. Maybe camouflage the entrance to make it look like the cliff surface. But that could take too long. And, I glance toward the sinking sun, I don't have time to be creative.

I sigh, clench my teeth together, and decide that sitting here thinking won't get me anything. So I get up, intent on at least getting my blood moving, and begin to descend the tree.

I get halfway down when I hear the voices. It sounds like some kind of argument, because the voices are guttural and aggravated. Upon frantically looking around, I can just barely make out their figures through the thick trees. I think they're about 15 feet away, far too close for my liking, and as I climb back up as quietly as I can, they don't appear to be normal Tributes. Which leaves only one kind: Careers. The worst kind, I scowl.

I'm suddenly glad I stayed in the tree for so long. Because if I'd left even a few minutes sooner, I would have run into them on the ground. I manage to pull myself up another few feet before I pause to listen to their conversation. It's muted by distance and the forest, but I can just make out their words.

They are arguing about their direction, and why they haven't run into any Tributes as of late. One of them – a girl with matted red hair – was hissing something about how they should be going West. The boy who cut her off is saying that they should keep their direction, because there could be tributes still in the forest. There are three others, two who definitely have that 'Career' look about them, and one who looks somehow leaner, with short cropped brown hair and a thick coat. Five. Which means they must have picked one more up in the last two days.

I'm just starting to think how doomed I'll be if they see me, and how I'll never win with the odds so against me, when something happens. The boy who'd been arguing with the red haired girl suddenly draws his weapon – a silver broad sword. The air changes immediately, shifting into something deadly as the redhead sneers and jolts forward. The other two boys hold her back. The lean one watches from the sidelines, a bored expression taking his face.

There is something strange about him. I can feel a shiver coming on just by looking at the laziness that radiates from him. Though I first thought he was the weakest one, now I get the feeling that he's a lot smarter and stronger than he lets on.

I don't know what to expect – I guess I'm thinking that they'll gather some sense and put their weapons back - but what happens next is quite the opposite. The redhead snarls something unintelligibly scathing and the swordsman jumps toward her, swinging his sword with a cry. She jumps out of it's path just in time, but in doing so, the edge hits the boy who'd been holding her back, digging across his muscled arm and making him howl in anger and pain.

"Damn it!" I wince at his curse and the sight of blood pouring down his arm. He growls dangerously, stumbling forward to grab at the girl. To my shock, I watch as he pulls her forcefully in front of him and gestures for the swordsman to have at her.

The next scene is so gruesome that I have to look away. As he buries the sword into her gut, I bury my face against the tree trunk, deeply breathing in the scent of pine. It does little to comfort me, because now I can hear her screams and the telltale sign of her struggles. It takes a full minute to stop, and even when the canon goes off and she lays dead on the ground, surrounded by stained snow, I can still hear the echoes of her cries in my mind.

I don't look up for what seems like hours. Indeed, by the time I do, the sun has long since sunk into the horizon, leaving me bathed in darkness. But for once, I'm not happy about it. The darkness only brings forth the image of that girl's last moments. Even though she was a Career, I cannot help but feel anguish that she died in such a horrific manner.

I can remember plenty of other Games where such an end took place. Gruesome deaths are normal in the Arena, even smiled upon by the Capitol viewers. They're dramatic, entertaining. It's a game. It's all a stupid game.

And even though I keep telling myself that, I have a sick feeling that if I ever make it out of this Arena alive, that memory will never leave me.

Later that night, as I lay in my tree, I try to formulate a plan. It's all I have now. My mind is sluggish, though, because the coldness is eating away at my body, my heart, and my thoughts are slow and painful. The image of the red haired girl keeps shoving itself into them. And the girl from District 4. And Matt. And all I can really remember is flashes of their deaths, ingrained in my memory.

I try to keep my eyes open, because I want to hear the Anthem and see how many tributes are still alive. It occurs to me that this will be the first time I've been conscious enough to hear it.

It plays, an hour or two after the sun sets. I'm rather surprised at the hatred I feel toward every single note. I grip my jacket tighter to my body and release a long, drawn out breath. My anger lessens into calculation once the faces show, but it still lurks in the back of my mind, always there.

We've been here a little under a week. Because I was unable to check casualties before now, I've no idea how many are still left. But the red haired girl is in the sky, along with a boy I vaguely remember from training. Two deaths, then.

I stare into the sky long after the faces disappear. My hazy mind is going places that I've no control over. Wondering about things from home, how Evon is, what Calan's thinking. But these thoughts morph into stranger ones as my eyes slip to a close. My father's face appears, warmly smiling. He leans forward, pushes his fingers through my hair and musses it up. He watches me laugh, playfully trying to escape as his arms come around me and he lifts me up.

And suddenly, I'm troubled. Because I take a moment to glance around him, trying to see where we are, but the territory is unidentifiable and different. There are woods, but they aren't the ones from home. A stream, but it isn't the one that cuts through District 7.

I try to ask him, but no sound comes from my mouth, and my lips move uselessly. He doesn't see anyway, it seems. He's looking past me, warm smile drifting away into an expression I've never seen on his face. He suddenly looks ten years older.

As I slink toward other dreams, I shiver. The sadness, the anger, the desperateness I now feel are mirrored completely in his eyes.

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><p><em>I remember feeling cold. A certain chillness had crept up my body, festering itself into my heart long before this moment. It's been like this for weeks, but there was no relief. There was no cure for a broken heart.<em>

_The velvet couch beneath me felt unused, but yet remained a ratty texture that gave way to it's age. I leaned back, arms crossed protectively over my chest, and waited. For whom I was waiting, however, I could only imagine._

_First, it was my mother. I cannot recall a time when she was more loving. She had me wrapped up in her arms the moment she entered the small room, tugging me to her chest as she heaved silent sobs. I couldn't understand why she was so sad, but it made me sad too. I had to push back my own sobs, force myself to remain stoic, because crying in front of her was like a sin to me – it was like showing weakness to Calan. _

_She'd kissed my cheek before leaving. It was a gesture she used to do, before father left, and it grew even harder to hold back my tears. She'd murmured a few words_, _too, but I was so busy trying not to cry that I couldn't hear them. And then, she was gone._

_I thought that would be all, because there were few people in District 7 that put up with my attitude. But Evon would come, I whispered. Even he wouldn't miss the last moments. Would he?_

_He didn't, of course. He came in a few minutes after mother left. There was something holding him up, though. Some invisible line had been drawn between us weeks prior, and he was wary around me. So the moment didn't feel right at all. It didn't feel genuine._

_I remember sitting there for long minutes, waiting for him to say something. But he hadn't. He merely sat beside me, gingerly took my hand in his, and held it tightly in his warm grasp. I wanted to take it back, to tell him that he had no right, but I couldn't. Nothing would come out of my lips, no words or sobs. It was like I'd been shoved into equilibrium, where anything personal wasn't allowed._

_The minutes were escalating, and I could feel the tension rising. He was going to speak, before this was over. I was surprised at how much I wanted him to. I wanted to hear his voice, so deep and filled with comfort, because the beating of my heart and the anxiety on my mind could only be relieved with such a sound._

_He'd leaned in, freeing one hand and wrapping it around my shoulders. I was pulled into him, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his essence. I caved, because if there was one last thing I wanted before I died, it was him. Even if it lasted only a moment, I wanted him._

_His breath wavered over my hair, sending warm shivers through my body. His grip tightened, fingers jerking over my back. Slowly, he told me, "You be careful out there, alright Wren?" And the moment passed._

_My heart crashed. For some stupid reason, I'd been hoping for something a little more sentimental. Something that might profess the exact emotion that had been crawling at my heart these past few weeks. Something that could explain why I haven't been sleeping right, or why I always feel sick to my stomach every time I see him with Calan._

_I'm ashamed of what I did the next moment. I'd never slapped him before – never had any reason to, because he'd always been the one person who'd put up with me. But as my hand hit him right across the face, I was filled with a fury that utterly shocked me._

_It was like I had no control over my body anymore. All my pain intensified and boiled into anger. Every time I remember seeing him with Calan, all the Mondays that suddenly weren't ours anymore, the disappearances, the ignorance...it all came rushing back. It slammed into me and caused me to feel a fury that I'd never felt before. _

"_I'm going to die," I snarled furiously, standing up. I could feel his shock, his stare. It was burning into me, breaking me down further. I didn't think I could be broken even more, but as he stood up and coldly nodded – in agreement or something else, I didn't know – I felt the shards of my already torn up heart explode into a myriad of thoughtless feeling. When he turned to go, cheek red from my slap and expression unwavering, I wanted to scream out for him to come back, to tell me that my words were false, to say that he loved me just as much as I loved him. But that moment passed, as well. And then he was gone, out the door._

_And all I could think about as I tumbled back onto the velvet couch was where he was probably headed now. To the girl he loved – the one with the beautiful golden hair and the shining eyes and the winning personality. The one who would never hit him, who would never show her anger around him, would never hate him enough to ignore him. As his footsteps faded, so did the aching pain that fluttered over my body. Cold winter remained._

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><p><strong>:D Thanks for the reviews and sorry for taking longer than usual to update <strong>

**The next chapter will be posted tomorrow. I don't know if I'll be writing any other flashbacks, since the story is progressing so quickly, buttt I might put one in with her father or something. Eh, I don't know. Thanks for reading though! (An I'm too lazy to put in chapter points =P pfft)**


	10. Into the Trees

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten |<strong> **Into the Trees**

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><p><strong>District 7 POV – Evon<strong>

The center of town is abuzz with excitement, as it usually is. The ever present fog that has kept people's spirits down since the start of the Hunger Games has lifted, because there was suddenly hope for Wren. And also, more importantly, we almost had enough money saved up to send her a gift.

It generally doesn't cost a lot to send in bread, but that isn't what everyone is aiming to do anyway. What the gift will be, no one knows. They just know that it will be big – something that Wren will need. When the moment comes, they'll be ready.

Evon's boots fall heavily on the dirt path. He passes the butcher's and the seamstress, walks by the town hall. He doesn't really have anywhere he wants to be, or has any direction in mind. It's his lunch break, and he's got an hour to kill. He doesn't want to depress himself by watching the screens today. Instead, he needs to move around, walk somewhere, talk to someone, and the center of town is the best place to do it.

He walks up to the baker's shop and buys a cinnamon roll. He's hungry because he hasn't brought lunch with him. The warm scent of it wavers over his senses, and he indulges as he bites down on it. Wren loves cinnamon rolls, he remembers, and then pauses as though coming to a mental standstill. He hurriedly wolfs down the roll after that, as though the memory of her frightens him.

It does. With Calan temporarily out of the pictures, Evon's been thinking. He has a feeling that he knows why Wren was so furious before she left for the Arena, because the reason is mirrored in him. His eyes have been opened, and he sees and remembers things that passed him by before. But her feelings for him and his for her are not the reason he's afraid.

He continues walking, seeing the edge of the forest and immediately delving into it. The scent of pine overrides cinnamon and puts his mind at ease. He can think a little clearer now.

His thoughts have been pestering him for days, keeping him up at night and making work especially difficult. He's wondered about it before, but for some reason, it's intensified. Perhaps because he thinks that now, Wren has a chance of coming home.

She'll be different. She'll always be in the Arena, even when she's out of it. She'll remember.

She won't be the same girl he's come to know. Perhaps she'll be quieter, or angrier. He can remember Johanna Mason in her first year back. She'd always been fairly edgy, but as a Victor, she was downright unsociable, dangerous, and angry. Would Wren be like that, too?

The remainder of his time spent in the woods is filled with similar insecurities. By the time he walks back to his house, his mind is so absent that he hardly feels like himself.

He passes the baker's, the seamstress, the butcher's, goes through the center of town, and then suddenly stops short. His eyes are drawn to the massive TV screen that is set up outside the town hall. People around him are doing the same thing, gaping at the scene playing miles away in the Capitol. Things are dropped in their shock, bodies rush into one another as they search for prime places to watch. This action wouldn't be as hurried if the face portrayed on the screen wasn't very, very familiar.

Wren doesn't appear to be very ruffled at what's going on around her, but Evon knows her well. He can see the fright concealed in her eyes, is aware of the tightness of her grip as her knuckles turn white around her sword. He wants to yell at her to climb a tree, get off the ground, because she's so vulnerable right now and it'd be so easy to kill her...

But she doesn't run away. He watches her straiten her back, draw her sword, and slink into a position that he knows well. The Careers around her smirk widely, and the fight begins.

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><p><strong>Arena POV<strong>

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><p>It's a good thing I'm fairly brave, because the glint that resounds through their eyes would frightened anyone. My fingers grip the hilt of my blade, eyes narrowing on the smirking Careers as they advance toward me. Fear erupts through my body, sparking beneath my skin as I back away. The snow proves difficult to maneuver around as it walls in my movements.<p>

"Four against one? That hardly seems fair," I tell them, voice scratchy from disuse. They sneer at me, narrow their eyes further. The sight of them reminds me of predators, dangerously stalking helpless prey. My confidence drops.

I know I won't be able to beat them all. Maybe I could take them if they were split in half, but four at once was too much. And it wasn't like I was a pro at fencing. I just knew what my dad had showed me, what he had taught himself. With the snow restricting my actions and my thigh still searing with each shuffle, I doubt I'll last two minutes.

I know for a fact that the camera is on us now. No one would want to miss this fight. The Careers' battles always guarantees a bloody scene, which the Capitol loves. The image of the red haired girl flashes through my mind. God, let me last longer than her...

I wonder what Evon is thinking, or if he's even watching at all. It's mid-afternoon, after all. He's probably working.

My feet shuffle back, slinking into a position as I draw my sword. I don't lift it up, though. It hangs at my side, making me appear too tired to correctly hold the rapier. Decisions flash through my head, all playing out the would-be fight before it actually happens. I know the Careers will underestimate me, because it's four to one and I'm already injured. They're better fed, have had better rest, and don't appear to have a scratch on them...save for the boy who was slashed the day before.

He will be the easiest to take on, I think. But the others will probably anticipate such a reaction, which will leave me at a disadvantage. A brooding look envelopes my features. I still have Matt's hunting knife strapped to my belt. The thought of having a back-up weapon makes me feel a lot better...

Another long second passes before any action takes place. The Careers, who seem to grow tired of waiting, all jump into the fray at once. Only one boy – the bored looking one who seems formidable – stays behind, arms crossed and watching me with an intensity that puts me on edge.

But I have little time to dwell on him. Three boys are rushing at me, weapons drawn. One is carrying a broadsword. The other two clutch daggers. At the sharp edge of the sword come down toward me, I clash my rapier against it, knocking it back, and then scurry behind the trunk of a tree before the other can make a move.

My heart is thundering in my chest, and I have no idea what to do. I don't have time to climb a tree, and even if I did, one of the Careers could follow me up. Fighting on the ground is my only chance of succeeding. If I take out a few Careers on my way, then that'll be more than I could hope for.

I throw myself away from the tree just in time as a dagger rushes toward me. So one of the Careers is good at throwing them... That gives the pack both long and short distance advantages, whilst I have only short distance. Another one up for them.

Damn it. I grit my teeth and block another hard downward shift of the broadsword. What I need is a hatchet. I can't throw these stupid little daggers – they're too small. But a hatchet...that, I can use. That will at least lift me up to match them in long distance.

I duck again as a dagger whizzes past my ear, and shoot a glare toward the boy who threw it. He must have an impressive display of them, if he can throw them wantonly. I try to back up, but the snow proves to be against me as well, and I nearly trip backwards. Raising my sword, I lurch forward, jerking the edge of my blade through an opening of the blonde haired Career's vest. I feel it snap through the fabric, but I have to pull back before I can really do damage, because another bothersome knife is being thrown toward me again.

I swiftly curse as it grazes my shoulder. Red rushes into the fabric of my shirt, but it's ignored. I catch sight of a fleeting smirk that washes over the knife-throwing bastard, and my resolve hardens into spite.

With the spite comes a rather sudden bout of determination as I dance back. My sword zips through the air with a grace that had been absent before. It clanks beautifully against the broadsword before I dart forward further. The tip of the rapier scratches against his wrist, but it is enough to cripple the movements of his arm. He can't hold the sword up with pain shooting through his veins.

I'm surprised I'm able to hold out like I am, but my body somehow anticipates their moves before they actually do anything. I dance in and out of their attacks, ducking and blocking, sometimes darting behind trees, taunting them with feints. It would be more fun if my life wasn't hanging on the edge of one of those flying knives, but I digress.

It's two long minutes later when the broadsword sluggishly surprises me. The three Careers team up against me, all lunging at me in the same moment. I'm left feeling very vulnerable, because I cannot possibly block all three attacks when they're in close range as they are.

When the broadsword slices against my shoulder, I cry out and tumble back, hitting a tree trunk hard. Blood is gushing down my arm in heavy rivulets, slinking between my fingers and lessening the grip I've got on my rapier. I open my eyes, train them on the Careers as they begin to stalk through me, and suddenly realize that this fight is over. Running isn't an option, I can't climb a tree, and with my shoulder messed up as it is, I can't properly lift my sword.

What happens next is so uncontrollable and shocking that it takes me a while to understand. The bored looking Career is suddenly yelling, eyes frantic as he stares at us. But his voice isn't that loud, and is being overrode by a louder, whooshing sound.

My eyes dart up. There's a wall of whiteness rushing toward us, converging over trees and completely covering them up. It's like a blanket as it wraps over the landscape...and then, my hazy mind snaps out of it and I realize how dangerous it is.

"Into the trees! Climb the trees!" There is a rawness in the voice that shouts those words, and with a start I realize that the voice belongs to me. The Careers seem to realize that my plan is the only way of surviving, and they jerk up the nearest tree at a pace that is faster than I would have imagined.

My shoulder screams out at me, but I keep pulling myself up. I have limited time before the avalanche pushes me down. I climb twenty feet up and take off my jacket. I wrap it around myself and then tie the arms around the trunk. Luckily, the tree is thinner up here and easier to cling to. I hurriedly wrap both arms tightly around it and shut my eyes just as the wall of snow engulfs me.

And then, from behind my closed lids, all I am aware of is brightness. As more snow pushes down on me, the brightness fades until it gradually tumbles into gray...and then charcoal...and then finally darkness. As the coldness descends upon me, all I can think about is how much I desire warmth – the warmth that can only be found in one place. The one place that just happens to be miles away, quite possibly watching me from a TV screen in the safe confines of home.

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><p><strong>blahhh Didn't really like the end of the chapter but...it'll get better..? I hope xD Chappie points~<strong>

**1. Development with Evon. And I wanted to write in his POV cause I wuv him**

**2. Demonstrates Wren's skill with a blade, but hints that she isn't a pro. Cause I don't want her to be Mary Sueish D: **

**I think there'll be at least 5-6 more chapters in the Arena, and then maybe 2 back in District 7 after Wren gets back. Can't wait to write Evon/Wren action ...pftt XD Thanks for putting up with me!**


	11. Alliance

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven |<strong> **Alliance**

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><p>When I finally break free of the cold blanket of snow, I'm struck with one realization. The Gamemakers didn't want me to die. I'm surprised by this, because usually the audience would be eating up any death that the Careers inflict. Perhaps it's because they'd just killed the red haired girl. Whatever the reason, I'm not sure I'm thankful or not. Tunneling out from feet of snow isn't exactly safe, but luckily since I made it pretty far into the tree, it takes only a few minutes to reach the air.<p>

By then, I can just about see the others breaking free as well, and I'm struck with a fight or flight reflex that inches towards flight.

I'm in no condition to fight them. But then, neither are they. And with the snow piled up as it is, it would be impossible to get a sure footing and run over to me, or me to them. We'd just sink into the snow and possibly never come back out.

I cling to the tree, eyeing the other Careers as they search for their teammate. But it's impossible to find him. He's probably stuck beneath the snow and suffocating to death. And now, they're left without their broadsword ally. Which is good for me, I suppose, but then I still don't know how I'm getting out of this one.

I don't know what to do when stuck in an avalanche! Here, the snow isn't packed very firmly. But perhaps I get find a better footing somewhere else. I can't see the branch I'm currently standing on though, and the snow is up to my waist, so how I'll find that sure footing, I have no idea.

One of the Careers yells in frustration. A frustrated Career is a dangerous Career, I know, but then how will they reach me anyway? I suppose one of them could throw a knife at me, but I'm surrounded by branches and I don't think they'd be that stupid.

I'm losing time, I know. I struggle upward, balancing blindly on a branch I find with my foot. I shuffle around, trying to find the thickness of the branch. It's pretty small, because I'm really far up, but the snow beneath it takes some of my weight and it doesn't threaten to snap.

I inch out again, hands leaving the tree. It's now of never, I think as I eye a nearby branch. I could make it. I've been jumping from tree to tree since the start of the Games, and this isn't any different.

But I can't see where my feet are, and the snow provides little traction beneath my boots. The jump is sloppy, but luckily I'm able to grab onto the long branch in time to pull myself up. I've only gone four feet, but it's more than the Careers, who are still stranded on their branches with no idea how to escape.

Of course, now they know. They're watching me, in an unsettling way that makes the hair on my neck prickle anxiously. The bored looking one looks especially unsettling. His eyes are practically staring holes into my head.

I don't know what prompts me to do it, but the realization that I'm practically as good as dead hits me square in the face. Even if I do escape, the Careers know how to follow me. They know that I'll probably be up in the trees and jumping like I am now. They know not to look for my footprints, but rather the piles of snow that fall from the branches as I push them off.

Overall, I've given way too much information away. The way I travel, the weapon I use, and the fact that I deserve a higher number than 6. They'll now be targeting me, coming after me. And the next time I meet them, the Gamemakers probably won't be as merciful as to create another avalanche just to save my miserable life. So I turn back, lock eyes with the bored looking one, whom I have a feeling is the natural leader, and I speak.

"It's not that hard, really. Just be mindful of where you put your feet when you jump. Follow me – I think the best route to take is East."

Team up with the Careers? I don't know what I'm thinking, just that I'm probably not. Even if we all make it out of this avalanche alive, they'll probably kill me once we reach ground. But then again, they'd most likely follow me out anyway. And I wouldn't be going fast enough to loose them, so it'd be death either way.

I know it takes them a long minute to decide whether or not to trust me. Eventually they do, and by then, I'm three trees gone. They haven't a choice, nor a reason, not to follow me. I'll be an easy kill and that's what they'll want.

I keep my emotions drained from my face as I lead them from the piled snow. Whether or not District 7 is ashamed of my actions, I don't know. But they have to realize that this is my only chance at survival. I wonder vaguely what Johanna thinks of my newest move. I try not to think about Evon. Calan, I know, is probably wishing for the Careers to catch up to me and kill me right where I stand.

I feels like miles before the snow starts to get heavier and begins slinking downward. I could probably walk atop it now, but I don't. I'm mindful of the trees that distance me from the Careers, and silently panicking about how my death will be. I hope they make it quick.

There's a shout from behind me, and I know that the Careers have discovered the solid snow. They're getting up, heaving themselves onto the surface, but I stay put. My thoughts are whirling about my head, looking at my situation from every angle. I could run downhill, but they would follow. I could climb into a tree, but they can climb equally fast as me. And they can jump, too. I don't dare bury myself in the snow, because that wouldn't do me any good. Only get myself sick if I'm even able to stay alive after one or two minutes with no air.

They're running at me, but I still don't move. I prop one leg up on a nearby branch and rest my chin in my hand. Lazily, I watch them come.

Death is imminent, but I can't seem to care. I've looked death in the eye before, when the snowy bob cat glared it's reflective eyes at me, and when the girl from District 12 stepped toward me with her weapon raised, and when I was so injured that I could barely sit up. This, I know, I slightly different. Because I'm not even gonna try to stop them.

The dagger boy is raising a sharp knife. His eyes are locked with mine. His face is contorted in a controlled mask. I think how remarkable it is for someone to be so stoic when they're about to kill, and then I remember how stoic_ I _am when I'm about to _be _killed. The similarity strikes me before the knife does, and it shocks me in a way I've never been before.

It's getting closer, shifting through the air as he takes quick steps over the snow. I refuse to close my eyes. I want to show the other districts that I'm not afraid of death, but inside, my heart is pounding and fear is making me itch.

And then, when the boy is five feet away and about to plunge me to my death, a loud voice shouts through the static silence, and the boy trips and is sent sprawling in the snow three feet from me. I'm shocked, eyes wide with the first emotion I've shown in hours, and completely baffled at the fact that my life has been temporarily saved twice in one day. But the bored looking Career – the one who had shouted – keeps his face naturally composed in a way that sort of scares me.

We stare at each other for a long minute, a silent contest creating a wall of concentration. When he speaks, I'm further baffled. But this time, I manage to keep some control over my emotions. Only the slight shaking of my hands and the confusion in my eyes lingers.

He raises a brow, steps closer, and tilts his head in a way that I'm sure is to frighten me. "Well? Will you join us or not?"

I can't imagine why they'd want me to join forces with them. It has to be because there's only three of them left. And that I've proved myself competent with a sword. But still, I'm confused, because they know I'm injured and I can't properly fight with said sword. So why would they want_ me?_

I'd be stupid to refuse, though. I nod stoutly, rise to my feet, and hold my hand out to shake his. In a strong voice that wavers just a bit, I say, "I'm Wren Fey, District 7."

He merely shrugs, "I know." But takes my hand anyway and says, "Samuel Hayes, from 2." And so our cursed, twisted alliance begins.

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><p><strong>Johanna's POV – Capitol<strong>

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><p>Her face is kept artfully blank, fingers loose at her sides, eyes transfixed upon the screen that shows the two tributes shaking hands. Her thoughts are buzzing around her head, intermingled with an angry sort of vengeance that has no direction and no end.<p>

She is glad she is alone, because even though her emotions are carefully checked, she still feels furious. Not at Wren, not even at the Capitol. She has no idea why her anger is so tightly forced, but she knows that it has something to do with the chance of death that Wren has just faced...the _two _chances of death.

Johanna can see her determination as clearly as she had felt her own, when she was back in the Arena. Wren and Johanna are so alike that it is uncanny. They share the same mind set, the same anger, the same twisted home life. Except Wren has something – someone – to fight for, and she had no one. For this, Johanna worries.

She leans forward, elbows now resting on her knees as she glares at the TV. The new Career pack is reassembling, making their way off of the packed snow and onto level ground. They're discussing which direction to go. Wren, surprisingly, has attained some form of control. During their discussion, Samuel Hayes seems to take her input very seriously. Johanna has a feeling that he accepted Wren into the pack for the simple reason of her knowing her way around. Wren was born amidst pine trees, and she has the best bearing for direction and survival whilst surrounded by them.

She watches as Wren gestures towards the mountains. No doubt other tributes have made their way up them. The Career pack agrees, and the four of them begin to make their way around the huge avalanche. It will take miles of walking, but getting to the mountain has, once again, become a necessity.

Johanna agrees that this alliance is good. It will ensure Wren's life for a while. But what happens, she wonders, when they are out of the pine forest? And what happens when Wren's impeccable sense of direction isn't needed anymore...?

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><p><strong>Wren's POV – Arena<strong>

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><p>I know when I'm being played. The very aspect of being a Tribute is to be played. I've been played with my entire life, by my father, by Calan, even by Evon. And I know, with every step I take, that it's a step closer to death. Still, I persist. Because my mind has blanked and I cannot think of any other plan. I'm safe for now, but since being played with has become second nature, I know that safety is all too imperfect.<p>

We're wrapping around the mountain, trying to get farther towards it whilst seeing what lies behind the towering peaks. The other Careers have decided that, if they were prey, they'd get as far away from us as possible, which means that over the mountain we go. There is logic to the plan, and I'm thankful that it'll take at least an entire day to get halfway across. Samuel and the others know of a river passing about mid-way around the mountain, so if we find that, we can follow the stream down to the forest below.

All in all, by the time we set up camp later that night below a large tree, I feel physically better than I've had since the Games begun. The Careers have a copious amount of food, and we all eat more than our fair share. My hunger sated, all that's left to be desired is a bath and some medicine for my leg, which seems to have gotten worse from walking so far. I stretch it out, unravel the wrappings to check on it, but it's so grotesque looking that I'd rather not look at it for long. All the while, Samuel watches with cool, calculating eyes.

The Anthem plays a few hours later, illuminating the sky with the face of the Career that the avalanche claimed. Two more faces show, but I hardly remember their district or anything about them at all, really. Nor do I care. They just mean two less people I have to worry about when I break free of these Careers...

Because I do plan on breaking free, when the time is right. I've seen this sort of alliance happen before, numerous times in past Games. The Career pack, teaming up with a poor, helpless Tribute that will be useful only for a short amount of time. And then, when their backs are turned, the Pack goes in and takes them out, just like that. No strings attached. I've no doubt that, unless I manage to come up with a plan to break free, I'll meet the same fate. And I'm far too stubborn and selfish to allow that to happen.

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><p><strong>AN: Woah thanks for all the reviews! I logged in and was surprised that so many people like the story xD Thanks to all the new reviews and a special thanks to IDreamtOfHim for once again making me smile :DDD **

**I'll admit that this wasn't what I had planned for the chapter, but I like it anyway. I'm thinking they'll about 4-5 more chapters that take place in the Arena, and then I'll finish up in District 7 and tie up all those loose ends~ **

**Chapter Points: 1. Wren joins up with Career Pack and lets them use her to navigate through the pine forest. **

**2. Johanna's thoughts on Wren's new move...I just wanted to write Johanna's character though soo there's no real reason bahaha**

**3. Wren's knowledge of the fact that the Careers are using her and plan to dispose of her when she isn't needed anymore. In typical badguy fashion. **

**Thanks for reading and I'll try to get another chapter up within the next two or so days! (Pray for a snow day~)**


	12. Down the Mountainside

**Flashes of Gold**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve | Down the Mountainside<strong>

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><p>There is a certain beauty that thuds it's way into lonely hearts. It wavers through the windows the branches form and dips into the crevices of the roots. It is carried upon the soft swell of a songbird's lullaby and is concreted in the delicate way the breeze shifts through overgrown grass. For me, it is a beauty that is transient and always moving, like the rush of emotion from a face that is slowly blurring from my perfect memory.<p>

I can remember neither the exact planes of his cheekbones nor the captured flashes of gold that the sunlight steals from his hair. I cannot see the affection dwelling within darkened eyes nor the tiny hint of a smile edging off of stoic lips. What I _can_ see is the back of Samuel Hayes' head as he trudges along in front of me.

My hands are bundled up in the loose pockets at my side, but there isn't any reason for them to be, for my fingers are still frigid and feel like ice has seized them. My face, usually arranged in a mass of determination, is set similarly as I stare fixedly ahead. I can feel my sword dangling at my side, but it offers me little comfort. There is nothing that can relax my taut muscles or calm my frayed nerves; nothing except escaping from the invisible ties that keep me bound to this sorry group of Careers.

We've been walking all day, and the sun is only just beginning to set. I can't feel my legs because the cold has long since gotten to them. Earlier that day, we were ambushed by a crazy tribute who seemed to have been waiting to die in the snow. When he saw us, he ran at us sloppily and met the end of Samuel's knife. However, Sam didn't get away completely unscathed and the dead tribute managed to cut him a bit before Sam got the upper hand.

This is ultimately good for me, but I have no idea what my plans are for ditching the Career Pack so the knowledge of Sam's injury is useless at the moment. I just keep walking, eyes darting ahead of me while I try to keep my company in mind. I'm slightly behind the group, so I can study them without them knowing. I look for weaknesses, observe the way they walk. I like to think I'm doing something productive by trying to know my enemies, but at the end of the day, I feel as caged and helpless as ever.

"You should get that cleaned," I nod at Samuel's bleeding stomach. We've found a mountain stream a few hours prior and followed it down here. Our camp is snuggled into the side of the mountain, as we're still making our downward trek into the forest below. Luckily, the weather has gotten slightly warmer and the water isn't frozen, so we can refresh ourselves,

Sam is sitting with his back against a tree, looking at the sky. For a minute, I think he's going to ignore my words, but then he says, "Hmm. You should clean your leg."

I scoff, but don't respond. The infection has been spreading with every passing day and I'm getting worried that by the time this is all over, I won't be able to use it at all. The medicine from the Careers don't seem to help much, though I've tried everything. All I can do is wait it out and pretend that it doesn't bother me, because I don't want to give the Careers that satisfaction.

I spread out my leg and copy Sam's position against a different tree. The other boy tends to the fire, which he managed to strike up a few minutes prior.

I watch the others fall asleep and keep my eyes resolutely open, unable to allow any vulnerability whilst around them. But even after my endeavors, I slip into my nightmares a few hours later, finding no peace in sleep.

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><p>The morning light comes as a mixed blessing. I'm happy to wake before the other two, which gives me time to tend to my leg and eat. There's this strange, ominous feel to the air that prompts me to hurry. I've been with the Careers for two days now, and its two days too much.<p>

I take the time to wash out my hair in the stream before the others awake, because I feel so dirty and grimy. I take off my shirt and pants and slip into the water wearing my underwear. Though I have no soap and the water is absolutely frigid, it still feels nice to get a bit of the dirt out of my skin.

I don't linger long because I want to be ready to move before the Careers are. When I get out fifteen minutes later and put my dirty clothes back on, the sleeping tributes are starting to stir.

Sam is on his feet by the time I enter the clearing. There's an untrusting look in his eyes, and when he speaks, he practically barks out, "Where've you been?"  
>But I just raise a brow at him and shrug, "Taking a bath." My answer doesn't seem to placate him and his anger is rather frightening to me. I try to keep my cool as he wakes up his other friend, but the fright has turned to churning worry and even a bit of realization, and I can't help but lose the calm façade.<p>

"I think we've let you live for long enough," Samuel tells me, eyes burning into mine and daring me to move. I do, swinging my hand to grip the hilt of my sword…only to find the place where it hangs is empty, and I'm clutching at nothing.

I jerk my eyes to my side and realize that I must have left it at the stream. I'm furious at myself. That was my only weapon and now I've foolishly lost it. The other Career is tossing Samuel his knives and has gained a dangerous edge to his gaze. As they slowly walk towards me, I'm struck with that stupid fight or flight thing and again, I lean toward the latter.

I fly off in the opposite direction, eyes wide as I maneuver through the trees. It's a downward descent that has me tripping every few feet, but I'm doing better than the other two, who are cursing and stumbling twice as much as me. This is a wooded area, without a whole lot of snow, and I'm used to the plunging tree branches and the twisting, gnarled roots.

My feet pound beneath me, matching the erratic beat of my heart as I tilt downwards. I almost feel as though I'm really flying, because each step I take makes me tumble into the air before landing back on the soles of my feet.

The terrain is intense and wild, rocky and woody at the same time. There are little cliffs that suddenly appear and force me to jump them. Its dangerous. I fall more than once, tumbling down a few yards before I can surge back onto my feet. Try as I might, however, I can't seem to shake my two followers. Every second wasted glancing behind makes me more worried about what will happen when we come to the bottom of the mountain.

We're nearly there when suddenly, someone shouts from behind me. I hear Sam's voice call the boys name and I can't help but look back. It's only for a fraction of a second, but it's enough to see the flailing arms of the Career as he trips and plummets down. The momentum of his body overcomes even my speed and I have to jerk out of the way to allow his passage. It's just in time, because I've reached another little cliff and I have to force myself into a stumbling halt as I watch the boy hurtle off the edge of it. He probably could have made it, but he didn't _stop_. I cringed as I listened to his descent, knowing there is no way he could cushion his fall.

For a moment, I forget all about Samuel Hayes. But then I'm twirling around, gasping at the stitch in my side from all the running, and looking up into the panting face of my enemy…who is both furious and vengeful.

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><p><strong>So I guess I owe you guys an apology for not updating in what seems like forever XD I'm sorry! After I got my new laptop, I sorta lost inspiration to write this. But I'm back on track now and I'll be updating more frequently. I'm hoping to update at LEAST once a week but it'll probably be more than that cause I want to finish this story. I've also been working on a new HaymitchXOC story if any of you are interested :D<strong>

**Ok...onto the reviews **

**IDeamtOfHim: no, you're not going crazy...or well, maybe you are now since I fail at updating lol But I'm glad you liked chapter 11 and hope you haven't given up on me**

**FoxxyNekos: Glad you like the story! I'll let this much slip: Wren will definitely survive. How could I kill her off before writing her reunion scene with Evon? lol**

**ImmortalDarkness101: So for some reason, I can't write fanfiction unless I'm in my room...xD I updated on the office computer but since I seem to be mentally troubled I couldn't make myself write haha**

**Haryuku Flavors: Thanks! Actually, the main reason I started writing this was because I wanted to try out present tense. I'm happy my writing style doesn't suck as a result lol**

**Luli Cullen: Don't worry! XD Now that I've updated I'll definitely be more inspired to keep going~ Thanks for the review**

**And thanks to everyone else who reviewed that I might have missed! Thanks for reading~**


	13. Assistance

**Flashes of Gold**

**Chapter Thirteen: Assistance**

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><p>For a moment, all I can do is stand there and try to catch my breath. My lungs are bursting, heaving against the currents of air that cascade down my throat. At my side, my hands are in fists and my nails are digging into my skin. I stare into Samuel's eyes, slightly overcome by the intense hatred building up in them, and fumble around for a plan. But in the end, I'm left with only my ability to think on the spot.<p>

He snarls, lips contorting in his rage, and grabs the long, sharp knife that is strapped to his side. Once again, I'm taken aback by the cold blooded emotion of his face. He is inhuman.

"I suppose I should thank you," his voice is dark and angry, and not the least bit thankful. I shift my weight to my other foot, edging closer to the side of the little seven foot cliff as he steps forward. He smiles a manic smile and continues, "You killed off the Career Pack in just a few days. Impressive."

He twists the knife around in his hand, expertly weaving it through his fingers without a second thought. He is still coming towards me, but I'm running out of room to back up and I know time is quickly running out. He smirks vividly and suddenly, he's not twisting his knife anymore, but rather holding it at the base of the blade, seemingly ready to throw it. "So thanks, I guess. After I kill you, it'll be that much easier to get rid of the rest of them."

I know he's about to throw it. I can see it in the way he's standing and the way he's staring at me with that annoying confidence. Like he doesn't think I'll be able to dodge. And why would he be wrong? There's no place for me to go except off the cliff, and if I do that, my back will be open and just _begging_ for a hit with that knife. I can't go around the cliff because it'll take too long and it'll be even easier for him to hit me.

I stare at him, a brooding calculating look taking over my face. I might have a chance, though it is small. Tilting my head arrogantly, I smirk, "I think you're forgetting something."

He pauses, raising a brow, and scoffs, "What would I be forgetting? I have everything I need right here." But he doesn't take another step because he's probably thinking over my words. I can tell by the careful look he's giving me.

I shrug and smile. "Oh, I don't know…maybe the fact that the forest is _my_ domain." But I don't know if I can make another quick escape with my leg.

He seems to think the same thing, because he's laughing, eyes closing for the briefest of seconds. But it is a second all the same, and I steal the chance immediately. I step backwards and fall, airborne for a moment before landing expertly on bent legs. My knee screams out for a moment, but I ignore it and then I'm running again, feeling free…and then grounded, because Sam has thrown his knife and it has found it's target.

I can't belief how lucky I am that it only caught the edge of my arm. It's pinning me to the forest floor, and I can't free myself, but I'm unharmed for now. A few yards away, Sam is laughing again. He stands atop the cliff with his arms crossed, probably thinking he's some sort of royalty. "'The forest is your domain'? Ha! And yet here you are, pinned like a helpless little animal."

I grind my teeth together, blood boiling furiously. I've never wanted to kill someone as badly as I do him. The dark desire takes hold of me, swirling in my veins and making me glare at him with a hatred I've never felt. Not when Calan got on my every nerve, not when Evon stood me up, not when the townspeople labeled and judged me.

I'm about to try to get free again when Sam's eyes drift away from me, and I turn my face as well to see what he's staring at. To my surprise, it's a parachute, and it's not floating over to Sam. It's floating to me.

He's shocked, too. But when I reach over with my free hand and push aside the white fabric to feel a sleek wooden handle, I'm overjoyed. I tug out an ax, and when I swing it once in my hand it feels like an extension of my arm. When I look back at Sam, my evil smirk seems to catch him off guard.

I struggle free from my jacket, leaving the knife embedded in the earth as I stand. My new weapon hangs powerfully at my side, and I'm overcome by the confidence it exudes. I'm going to kill him, and I'm going to enjoy it.

He seems to know my thoughts because suddenly, our roles are reversed. He turns and bolts up the steep hillside, but he can't go very far because I'm chasing him, climbing up the cliff with a litheness that I don't even notice. He makes it about ten feet from the cliff's edge before my ax is digging into his back, and he lets out a horrific scream that tears through me like a ghost. He falls face first into the dirt and speaks no more.

I'm vaguely aware of the canon going off, but my mind is still in shock at how much his scream affected me. I force my legs to move and they give out a few feet from his body. I grip the blade of the ax and pull it out with a sickening squelching sound that makes me want to hurl. This is the first time I've actually killed in such a murderous way, and I have a feeling that it will stay with me for years to come if I ever make it out.

I am beginning to wonder at how many tributes there are left when suddenly, an excited, static voice fills the silence and I am left utterly shocked. I scramble to the side, press my back against the trunk of a nearby tree as though it will act as protection. But what awaits me isn't evil. In fact, it is the one thing I have been waiting for since the very beginning of this cursed journey.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a Victor!"

What? But there must be other tributes left! There _must_ be! It can't be over, it simply can't be. There must be some sort of catch to this, but to my surprise the voice just continues to speak, congratulating District 7 and myself for staying alive thus far.

But I'm still too shocked. I can hardly breathe and I can't move a muscle, even after I'm being carded into a shuttle. The forest that I have been in for weeks on end is now gone and I am unable to process the realization that I am now free.

"Congratulations to our Victor from District 7!" is all I hear before suddenly, someone shoves a needle into my arm and my world darkens.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Edited on November 24th 2012. I've decided to change the ending of this chapter cause I just can't figure out how to proceed and I want to hurry up and get this done! So I apologize if it ends a bit abruptly, but I'm hopeful that it'll prompt me to start writing the story again :3 Please review~<strong>


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